Screwing Up
by Lunar1
Summary: Sam makes her choice, but will she and Jack be able to face the consequences?
1. Bad News

Cassie knew, she perceived with absolute crystal clarity as soon as she walked into his house; that Carter had told him. He was making coffee in a distracted manner, face completely blank, hands entirely steady; a picture of calm and quiet distraction. That in itself was an absolute giveaway.

"Hi," she said, slightly shyly, in order to announce her presence.

He looked up, spooning sugar into his coffee without needing to see what his hands were doing. "Hi Cassie," he returned, his dark eyes dead.

The teenager sat down heavily on O'Neill's sofa as he bought through his steaming drink to the living room. "Do you want some?" he asked, taking a sip from the cup and raising his eyebrows.

She shook her head. "No thanks."

He sat down opposite her, drinking his scalding coffee as if it were cold. "How's school?"

She shrugged. "Same as always."

"And the boyfriend?" he queried, as if working his way down a mental checklist.

"Dumped," she informed him, pursing her lips slightly. "I.. Well, things just weren't working out. So I ditched him before he ditched me." She stopped abruptly, suddenly realising her words, in the situation, might not be considered the most tactful.

However, O'Neill appeared not to have heard them. "Good. Good. That's good."

There was a long silence. Cassie inspected the nails on her right hand for a minute until it became an unbearable quiet. "Jack?"

His eyes flicked up to meet hers again, focusing on her as if for the first time.

Cassie took a deep, calming breath before speaking. "She told you, didn't she?"

O'Neill flinched as she spoke, an almost imperceptible movement, but one that Cassie registered with a medical efficiency her late mother would have been proud of. "Yeah," he replied, the word strangely constricted.

Cassie let out the breath, unaccountably relieved. "You... you're okay with it?"

O'Neill gave her another blank look. "Of course I am," he said, a little too quickly, "I'm very happy for her. Aren't you?" His eyes seemed to flash as he spoke the last two words, suddenly filling with life once more.

Cassie floundered, not adept at reacting to Jack O'Neill's methods of redirecting a line of questioning back onto the enquirer. "Well. Of course I am. I mean... it's great news. And he's a nice guy."

The word 'but' seemed to hover in the air, and Cassie shut her mouth before she spoke it to fill the void. O'Neill's gaze dropped into his empty coffee cup. When he spoke next, it seemed he addressed the dregs of his drained drink. "She's resigning from SG-1."

Cassie blinked. "So soon?" She was surprised, and mildly vexed, that Sam had said nothing to her about resignation.

"Yeah. Resigned her military commission. I got her letter this morning."

A sinking feeling spreading through her, Cassie tried to ask her next question in a would-be-casual voice. "She didn't come to see you about it?"

O'Neill's answer was a long time coming. "No," he eventually murmured.

Cassie's eyes closed briefly in an uncanny impersonation of the subject of their stilted conversation. "Oh," she squeaked.

He looked so mournful, staring into the cup as if it held the answer to universal understanding; posture so stiff and angular he looked like a soldier on parade and face so emotionless, that she felt moved to hug him. He put his cup down and stood up, ready to take her overnight bag to the room she inhabited in his house. She threw her arms around him unashamedly, feeling him go rigid with shock. She hadn't hugged him, hugged him like a child embracing a parent anyway, since she was eleven.

He patted her back awkwardly, as if worried she might explode. "I'm really sorry Jack," she said.

"Don't be," he replied off-handedly, as if he was supremely unconcerned. "I'm fine with it. Really I am."

This only resulted in his adoptive daughter nearly cutting off his air supply as her arms tightened. "No you're not."

O'Neill would not have tolerated anyone else to say those three words to him, but because it was Cassie saying it he let them pass without comment; either to confirm or deny. Since Janet's death the bond between them had grown; from something that had resembled the relationship between uncle and favourite niece into something more parental.

Cassie had lost a parent; O'Neill had lost a child. Whilst he doubted she would ever feel comfortable with calling him 'Dad,' or indeed that he would ever be comfortable with her referring to him as such, there was still an unspoken degree of understanding between them. O'Neill spoiled the teenager, generally unwilling to send her to bed late at night or reprimand her over late homeworks; and in return she accompanied him to hockey games, forced him to watch her favourite films and often acted far younger than her seventeen years in his company. In return for his willingness to play the role of doting parent, she was more than happy to take on the role of grateful child; giving him a taste of the time he might have enjoyed with his own son.

Sam, Cassie knew, was slightly hurt by the way the pair of them had settled so easily into their roles of guardian and child. It was difficult for Cassie to give shape to the concept when talking awkwardly to Sam about it; hard to explain that whilst she was far closer to Sam; that she shared with her the pain of losing a mother, the trials and tribulations of womanhood, a fierce intellect and yet somehow found it easier to talk, laugh and play with O'Neill.

O'Neill was an easy person to be around; he loved children. Whilst Daniel, Carter and even on occasion Teal'c would face his wrath or acerbic wit, would bear the brunt of his worryingly good ability to hurt other people with harsh words; Cassie knew she would always be unthinking catergorised by her guardian as 'kid' and that exempted her from contact with the sourer side of his personality. Sam on the other hand, was well aware Cassie was on the brink of adulthood and treated her as such. It made for a more conflicted relationship.

O'Neill extricated himself from her strangle-hold. "C'mon. Let's get this stuff up to your room. I thought you'd bought a film round for us to watch?"


	2. Moving On

Carter was driving slightly over the speed limit; worry keeping her foot on the accelerator whilst guilt at breaking the law (in the company of a police officer, no less) stopped her from pressing the pedal flat to the floor.

Pete, smiling slightly, touched her arm lightly. "Sam. She's seventeen. I'm sure she can handle us being a little late."

Sam smiled, keeping her eyes on the road. "I know, I know. I just..."

"Iknow 'you just,'" her fiancé returned, "Stop panicking. You really think O'Neill would let her go anywhere or do anything stupid?"

He had spoken the words as reassurance but her stomach clenched as he said _that_ name and the weight of guilt that had lifted over their weekend together returned full measure. She knew in her heart of hearts that she owed it to her former CO to see him in person about her engagement and resignation; knew she had taken the easy way (the _coward's _way a part of her insisted) out by simply dropping the letter on his desk for him to find and read; leaving O'Neill unable or unwilling to contact her about its content, as she had already gone away for the weekend.

Forcing her foot to relax a little, their speed dropped to under the legal limit and Pete put the radio on, lying back in his chair with his eyes closed in the warmth of the sun. She had fought him tooth and nail to drive home, almost on the brink of arm-wrestling before he had bowed to her wishes, but now he seemed perfectly content to let her drive.

Three and a half hours later than she had specified, Carter pulled onto the drive of her home, nearly hitting the truck already parked there.

O'Neill's truck.

Her stomach lurched with guilt again.

She was pulling the keys to her home out of her handbag as Pete attempted to manhandle her suitcase out of the boot and up the drive when the door opened. Cassie stood with her hand on the door, a half-disapproving half-amused look on her face. Behind her stood O'Neill; his hands entrenched in the pockets of his jeans as was usual.

For a moment their eyes met and she felt her face flush. The hurt in his eyes was palpable; a terrible force that seemed to draw her into their hazel depths. She had betrayed him in a most horrible way and as he stood there, face blank and eyes full of emotion she felt like crying.

"Hi, you pair," Pete said behind her, dragging her back into the real world and forcing her to swallow her guilt and blink away the beginnings of tears, "Had a good weekend?"

"Not too bad," Cassie replied jovially as O'Neill nodded behind her, a simple inclination of his head.

Pete made no secret of liking Cassie, and on the few occasions they had met previously he had got on well with O'Neill; to the mild surprise of several people not least O'Neill himself. Now O'Neill was wrestling between the twin desires to congratulate the policeman or thump him senseless. He didn't feel the jealousy he had expected to feel upon once again encountering the man who had finally, undoubtably, beaten him in the race for Carter's heart; more a sense of hopelessness that filled him with the desperate desire to get the hell out of Carter's house.

"I'm gonna make tracks," he announced awkwardly, silencing an animated conversation between the three others.

"Oh. Ok," Carter said, looking relieved. "I'll move my car..."

"See you around Cassie... Pete," he managed, moving swiftly towards the door

"See you."

"See you soon Jack."

"Sir?" Carter said as soon as she had shut the front door, not quite to so she would be able to get back inside without using her key.

He turned to face her. "You resigned Carter. Lose the sir."

She cringed slightly at his voice, most unlike herself, and he hated for the weakness. This wasn't the Sam Carter he knew, flustered and apologetic. He wanted the woman he loved back, standing in front of him now, the woman who could out-shoot, out-run, out-fight, out-fly and out-think her contemporaries. This was Sam soon-to-be-Shanahan; a woman who could show her vulnerability and be loved for it. _This Samantha has no connection with Jack O'Neill_, he thought savagely.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice light, "Jack."

He hated himself for losing his wall of anger as she spoke his name; hated the way the aggression that seemed to be powering him drained away. He knew his eyes had softened, the lines on his face becoming less deep. "Yeah?" he asked.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you in person."

He nodded. "Me too."

She stood stock still for a moment, not knowing how to reply, and then moved to her car, unlocking the door as he did the same. Just before he slid into the driver's seat she spoke again.

"I had to move on. Don't hate me for that."

He shut the door, the _clonk_ of the metal and rubber his answer. He was smiling slightly to himself, the anger returning. At least the last words she had spoken to him had been more like the Carter he knew; confident, full of valid self-justification.

He reversed onto the street and drove away, his last view of her in his mirror as she stepped back inside her home, glancing along the road before she shut the door.

* * *

He lay awake, thinking of a particular smile.

_I had to move on. Don't hate me for that."_

Hate her? He had nearly laughed out loud. _I don't hate her. That's the whole damn problem._

He turned over and buried his face in his pillow, wishing his head would empty and he could sleep.

His errant brain apparently had other ideas. He found himself thinking about the moment he had first met Carter; his first words to her.

_"Ah, here we go another scientist. General, please!"_

She had looked at him with a fierce energy in her eyes, a kind of hatred. He'd felt himself being thrown off balance.

He grinned into his pillow.

She'd managed to get the last word with her challenge of an arm wrestle; and he'd been hooked. He remembered walking up the ramp and her words to him:

_"You really will like me when you get to know me, Colonel."_

_"Oh, I adore you already Captain."_

He_ had_ found her attractive; what man wouldn't? And when he was forty-two and still dying his hair brown it seemed... well, not too disgusting for a man fifteen years her senior to find her attractive.

And there'd been a time when it had seemed really possible that Jack O'Neill and Sam Carter might, one day, be an item. It'd been fun simply to be around her; knowing that he'd die for this woman and taking a secret joy from that fact.

But things had changed again. After the za'tarc testing; when he'd suffered the dual humiliation and joy of confessing those feelings to her and hearing the same thing back... things gradually became different. The realisation began to set in that he and Carter might _never _be together and their relationship had soured a little.

His grin faded.

And now she had Pete. And he had looked in the mirror and seen a much older reflection than he remembered looking back. The thought had struck him suddenly that he was _too old_ for Sam Carter.

So he'd tried to modify those feelings. Tried to feel for her in the same way Daniel did, the same way Teal'c did. Tried to think of her as his little sister. _But things don't work like that, do they?_

And now they were getting married and he seemed destined for a life of unrequited love.

He sighed, turned over again and pummeled his pillow.


	3. Stupid Idea

She knocked on the door of his office, heart pounding.

"Come in."

She opened the door and stepped inside. He smiled at her, his eyes friendly and she visibly relaxed. Something that had been haunting O'Neill for the past week was gone. "Hey Carter," he said amiably.

"Jack," she returned, smiling as she said his name. Despite everything, it was nice not to wait on ceremony and address each other by their ranks. "You wanted to see me?"

"Uh, yeah. It's about transferring you. I was wondering... do you want to leave the SGC?"

Her mouth dropped open in shock as her heart plummeted. She had feared that his reaction to her retirement would be to send her away, finally out of his life in every sense. She did not want to leave the SGC. To rarely see Daniel Teal'c and O'Neill was something painful to contemplate. As she tried to assemble a coherent sentence he continued hurriedly.

"I mean, not that I want to send you away or anything, but if you want to go..?" He gabbled his words, leaving the question hanging.

"No!" she replied, the fear making her half-shout the word, "No. I want to stay."

He gave her another smile. "Good. We'd have missed you. I was thinking of transferring you to SG-7. You'd be welcome as a scientist on the team, you'd still get to go through 'Gate but not for front-line action and you'd get to keep your lab."

She found herself grinning. "That would be... perfect."

"Then I will see what I can do."

It dawned on her she was free to go. She stood up, moving towards the door, and paused, one hand on the frame. She hadn't considered inviting Jack because, well, it would have been having her cake and eating it too in some people's eyes, but his friendliness prompted her to make the offer. "Jack? Uh, I'm having a bit of a celebration tonight. Daniel and Teal'c are popping in. You're invited too, if you want to come."

He appeared to consider his options for a moment. "Yeah. Sure."

She smiled again and closed the office door.

* * *

He knew he was late. He wondered if Carter had decided that he had changed his mind, if she would be surprised to see him here. He wondered whether he should have come, if her offer had not been made out of kindness. Or worse, pity.

He rang the doorbell, clutching the bottle of wine he had bought like a drowning man holding a life-belt. Cassie opened the door and rolled her heavily made up eyes. She was wearing a dress and O'Neill suddenly felt far to casual. "You're late."

He stepped inside, into the warm glow of Carter's house. "Sorry," he replied.

"I wouldn't worry. Pete got held up at work. Won't be back for hours. Daniel and Teal'c are the only other people here."

"Oh."

"Come on through. Bring the wine," she added, eyeing the bottle shaped package.

"You're not having any," he grinned as he followed her into the living room.

She raised her eyebrows in reply; the words unspoken but completely clear: _you'll see._

The other three former members of SG-1 were seated on Carter's sofa. Daniel was undoubtably already drunk; discussing the cultural differences in Jaffa wedding rituals and those on Abydos.

"Hi Jack," Carter said, looking up and noticing him. "Did Cassie tell you about Pete?"

He nodded his reply, thrusting the bottle at her in awkwardness. She took it from him and peeled the coloured tissue paper away from the glass, reading the label.

"This is good stuff," she said.

"You sound surprised," he returned, in a mock offended tone.

She grinned lazily. "No more alcohol for Daniel. He's had three beers already."

Cassie curled up on the sofa next to her guardian. "Tell Jack about my idea," she demanded.

Carter looked awkward. "Cassie..."

"Tell him," the girl insisted.

Carter sighed. "Cassie has this ridiculous idea-"

"I think it's a good idea," put in Daniel.

"-Ridiculous idea," she continued, "About a hen night."

"I fail to see the relevance of chickens to a marriage ceremony," Teal'c said and O'Neill snorted with laughter.

"Cassie thinks I should ask you three to be my bridesmaids," Carter finished.

There was a long pause. "You have someone else to ask?" O'Neill asked, trying to phrase the question as tactfully as possible and failing.

The ex-Colonel coloured slightly. "Of course I..." Her indignant tone faded somewhat as her face grew red. "Well, Cassie of course."

"And..?" prompted Cassie, causing Carter to flush a deeper shade of red.

"I'd love to be your bridesmaid, Sam," replied Daniel, waving his hands animatedly, "As long as I don't have to wear a dress."

"As am I, Samantha."

Four pairs of eyes swivelled to Jack O'Neill, who was still pondering his reaction to hearing Teal'c refer to Carter as anything other than her rank and surname. His gaze flickered from face to face as he wished, desperately, to be anywhere else but rooted to the sofa. He did not know how to reply; torn between desire to fit in, to be a good friend to his former 2IC and the need to be far, far away when she married another man.

Carter dropped her gaze. "It's stupid," she murmured.

Something rebelled inside him. "No," O'Neill replied, "No it's not. And... if you want, yeah. I'm in."

He saw the look exchanged between Daniel and Teal'c and steadfastly ignored it. Carter met his eyes, reading some of the hurt mixed with bravado and electing to simply incline her head, accepting his offer but giving him opportunity to rescind it at another time. He admired that.

Cassie clapped her hands with glee. "Oh, I so cannot wait for this hen night!"

"You can't come." O'Neill protested and her mouth dropped open in shock. "You're still underage. You can't drink in a bar."

Cassie looked mutinous. "You're trying to tell me you never went in a bar underage?"

O'Neill met her furious stare blandly. "No. But I'm saying as your legally appointed guardian, I'm not letting _you_."

She held his gaze steadily. "Life was so much easier when I didn't have a dad."

He grinned, slightly touched by her words.

Daniel interrupted, looking slightly hurt. "You've always had three father-figures," he said and Cassie laughed out loud, moving to hug the drunken archeologist.


	4. Hurting Us Both

O'Neill drove Daniel home, slightly ashamedly relieved to be presented with an excuse to leave as the younger man was sick all over his shoes, long before Pete arrived back from work.

They drove in silence for a while, wind from the open window whipping their hair away from their faces.

"Jack?"

"Daniel?"

"You're being very noble about all of this."

O'Neill chanced a glance to his right. The archeologist was staring at him, his gaze slightly glazed due to his intoxication, but his face was serious.

O'Neill sighed, fed up of having this conversation. "Yeah."

"I mean, we know how you feel about Sam... and we expected you to be more..."

"More what? Angry? Upset?" The words burst from his throat. "Betrayed? Why? Why should I feel like that? She's a free woman, it's her choice to marry who she wants. I-we.. Well, we could never have a relationship, could we?"

Daniel continued to regard him steadily and O'Neill, his frustration rising, realised his reaction had been deliberately provoked by his companion. He had just presented Daniel with all the answers he craved as to exactly how O'Neill was feeling about current events. "She resigned for you, as well, you know."

"What?" O'Neill snapped, skidding in mid-anger.

"She did it for you as well as Pete. She was tired of not being allowed to be your friend. She was fed up with being Carter and Sir. She wanted the chance to get to know you as Jack."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No."

"Good, because it doesn't."

"I didn't think it would."

The rest of the drive was completed in stony shush. O'Neill helped Daniel to his door, abandoning him once he was safely over the mat and continuing on his way home.

_"She did it for you as well as Pete."_

_"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"_

_"No."_

He pulled up on his own drive, killed the engine and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand.

_"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"_

_"No."_

It _didn't_ make him feel any better. In fact, Daniel's revelation had only driven him back to the dark place he had been inhabiting for the last week. The fact Carter had resigned to be a better friend to him only made things worse. Yes, he would have given almost anything to stop their dance on eggshells, to end the fact that he could never be a companion to her in the way that Daniel and Teal'c could; remove the wedge that regulations placed between them. But in the hazy someday he had always pictured the 'getting to know you better' had always possessed a vaguely less platonic connotation.

The crux of the matter was he had always hoped that when either he or Carter resigned they would be more than just friends. The fact that she had resigned simply in order to be his friend hurt more than their lack of a normal friendship previously. It meant that... it meant that...

_It means that she is over you while you're still clinging to an impossible dream. She never loved you enough to resign for you. She loves Pete more than she ever loved you. That's the meaning of it, all wrapped up. _

He got out of his car, slammed the door shut. This wasn't him, he was _good _at dealing with emotional trauma and loss. He'd lost his son and his wife had divorced him, for cryin' out loud! He'd dealt with that, he could certainly deal with this.

_Funny,_ he found himself thinking, _I don't recall dealing with it too well at the time._

* * *

The weekend rolled around, as it always did, and O'Neill found himself playing host as normal to Cassie. The teenager was unusually grouchy; blaming her bad mood on an excess of homework. He made her cups of tea hourly and ferried them up to her room (which seemed to grow messier by the hour, despite the fact she hadn't moved from her desk) as her essays grew longer and maths calculations more complex.

It was late Sunday night when she emerged; sleepy eyed and disheveled, and announced she had finished. O'Neill was watching the Simpsons.

"Jack?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You know when... when they get married?"

His attention diverted; he looked at Cassie, sensing this was serious and hoping it wasn't another replay of their earlier conversation. "Yeah?"

"Can I... um, can I live...?" She couldn't quite finish the sentence.

O'Neill had a stab at completing it for her. "Live with them?" he asked, hollow voiced.

Cassie's troubled look dissipated. "Live with you," she said quietly.

He blinked in surprise. "Me? I thought you'd want to stay with Sam all the time. I mean, it'd be like a ready made family."

He regretted his words instantly, Cassie did not deserve to hear them, but the thought had been lurking in his brain all weekend and had bubbled to the surface.

Cassie grinned slightly. "Yeah. I thought that. But then I thought, well, Sam obviously wants to start her own family, doesn't she? That's why she resigned from SG-1, I thought, to stop 'Gate-travel so she can have kids."

O'Neill felt like he'd been slapped in the face and kicked in the guts simultaneously. _Why am I so blind?_ "I guess... I didn't think...well... no danger of that happening here..."

She blundered on through his blustering. "So, y'know, I'd rather not intrude on that. As much as I love Sam and like Pete. I don't want to be...." She lost the ability to speak again, what were unmistakably tears welling up in her tired eyes.

O'Neill hugged her. "You wouldn't be a burden," he reassured as she began to sob.

"Oh, but I would. I wouldn't be part of _them_, would I? I'm not her daughter, or his. I'd feel like an intruder."

O'Neill didn't know what to say; he felt like the bottom was falling out of the world. "Cassie, you are _always_ welcome in my house. But Sam will be upset. She loves you too."

"I know! I don't _want_ to upset her!" Cassie responded, now positively bawling.

"Cass. It's okay. I would-I-I'd really like it if you lived here. Stop, stop crying. It's okay."

Ten minutes ago, life had been simple. He'd been happy, watching the Simpsons, his mind distracted from miseries of all kinds by television. Now he'd just agreed to permanently look after a seventeen year-old girl who'd been born on another planet and lost every family she had ever known to the Goa'uld. He hugged her, rocking her gently and reassuring her unthinkingly, wondering what it was like to have a life free from complication.

When she seemed slightly calmer he spoke again. "Don't make a decision yet. Wait until after they get married. If you still feel the same, I'll welcome you with open arms, Cassie, I promise. But give it a try first, alright? You can still live half and half and if you aren't happy you can move in here."

"Okay Jack," she said, drawing away at last. He dug in his pocket for a tissue, finding one and holding it out to her.

"Blow," he instructed, feeling ridiculously motherly.

She did as he asked, rather noisily. "I feel like an idiot," she confessed.

"It's alright, Cassie. When it comes to idiocy, I above all others, understand."


	5. Outrageous

Jack was sitting in his chair, attempting to complete some rather urgent paperwork, when someone knocked on the door of his office.

"Come in."

Carter's blonde head poked around the door. She smiled at him and entered, closing the door behind her. Her hands were behind her back.

"Jack," she said, eyes shining.

"What can I do you for?" he asked, scoring out a sentence he wasn't happy with and replacing it with a better one.

She bought her arms around in front of her to display the two cups of jello. He regarded them curiously for a moment and she felt moved to speak. "You never call round my lab anymore," she explained, her tone slightly reproachful, "So I thought I'd bring you something."

"Thanks," he said after an momentary awkward silence. He took the cup from her, being careful not to brush her fingers with his own. "Sorry. I've just been busy lately and-" It was a complete lie, of course. He'd been avoiding her lab with an almost religious fervor since her engagement.

"It's okay Jack. I know you've had a lot to deal with lately," she interrupted him gently, handing him a spoon.

Again, her statement was double-edged. His workload at the SGC had certainly increased, but he had the distinct feeling that wasn't what she was referring to. He nodded. "How are things going?" he asked, amazed to find discussing her wedding could be this unpainful.

"It's... frenetic," she confessed, her face lighting up again, "There's so much to organise."

He frowned slightly. "Should I be fulfilling a bridesmaidal duty and helping with this?" he asked, digging into the jello with the spoon and putting the overloaded spoonful into his mouth,

She blushed slightly. "I thought you'd forgotten that."

He found he was grinning lopsidedly. "How could I forget? I've never been a bridesmaid before. If you want any help, you can give me a ring. I think Sarah's still got half the numbers for things from when we got married, I could give her a call if you want...?"

"That's very kind of you, Jack," she managed, turning to her own jello.

His smile went slightly sad for a moment. "That's what friends are for."

She met his eyes quickly. "Friends." It was a statement, rather than a question, and there was something in her voice he couldn't identify.

"We are friends now, aren't we?" he asked, softly. She found looking away difficult, his hazel gaze softening and an almost boyish look of vulnerability claiming his face.

"Course we are."

He smiled again, the ghostly, saddened smile. "Good."

* * *

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, no," he pleaded desperately. "Please, no. I will look outrageously homosexual."

Carter and Cassie were too overcome with laughter to speak. Daniel, already dressed in the offending outfit, spoke instead.

"Come on Jack. If Teal'c will agree to wear one, you have to as well. This is what being a bridesmaid is all about."

"Carter said no dresses!"

"It's not a dress!" Cassie, still snorting with laughter, replied indignantly.

"No, it's worse!"

Carter regained enough composure to speak. "Jack, if you really don't want to, you don't have to."

He met her laughing eyes and swore very loudly in the confines of his own head. Because he was going to leave the house wearing this _ridiculous_ costume, and he was going to do it because even now he couldn't bear to back out when Carter told him he didn't have to do something.

"Why are you having this hen party now, three weeks before your wedding, anyway?" he grumbled, but it was the moan of the defeated.

"Because Pete's having his stag night tonight and something _will _happen to him and I think three weeks gives us plenty of time to sort out anything stupid that occurs tonight," Carter answered levelly.

Jack sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll go and change."

He emerged from the bathroom three minutes later, now dressed as the rest of them were in the 'official' hen night party gear ordered by Cassie (who, being too young to legally drink, was going to act as their designated driver and ferry them from place to place on their night out).

The tee shirt, designed to be worn by a woman, was ridiculously tight across his chest and exposing rather more of his lower stomach than he would have liked. It was white and had 'Bride's Best Friend' emblazoned across the back; identical to Daniel's, and presumably Teal'c's when he finally arrived. On the front there was an image of a notepad across which was written a check list. He gave Daniel's list a cursory scan.

_Dares for the big night!! Tick box when completed!!_

_Snog a bald man!!_ _Get your underwear signed by a footballer!!_ _Drink the most expensive cocktail available!!_ _Get a fit bloke to sign your bra in lipstick!!_

It continued in the same vein right down to number twenty seven (lick kebab sauce from a stranger's navel!!). He shook his head, still wondering why the hell he was doing this, and the plastic, flashing deely-boppers (in the shape of a _particular_ part of the male anatomy) he was wearing swayed slightly from side to side on their springs.

The doorbell rang and Cassie ran to open it. Teal'c stood, resplendent in his hen night finery, on Carter's doorstep. O'Neill had to concede that he didn't look the most ridiculous out of the three men. Teal'c bowed his head and the deely-boppers waved obscenely.

"Samantha. Only my deepest respect for you has allowed me to leave my home dressed like this."

Carter hugged him, still deeply amused. "Thanks Teal'c."

"Smile for the camera!" Cassie announced suddenly, producing one from her handbag.

"No!"

"No."

"No pictures."

She smiled sweetly. "Oh come on guys. Just one picture?"

The flash preceded their answers and O'Neill realised the chance of this particular photograph making its way to the SGC was probably fairly high, and resolved to steal the camera at first opportunity, develop the pictures himself and remove any offending ones. Although, of course, the people at the processing shop would still get to see them and know it was him when he came to pick them up... perhaps he could convince Daniel to do it...


	6. Wrong

Six hours later, Jack O'Neill was more drunk than he had ever been before in his entire life (and that included his own stag night, when he'd been carried home in a shopping cart and had been sick all over the porch). He was so intoxicated he had stopped noticing the other amused revelers pointing and laughing at them; and he was even considering going onto the dance-floor to join Daniel and Carter.

He wobbled his way across to them, his legs seemingly more drunken than the rest of him and they were having trouble deciding where the floor was. This was the fourth club they had visited, running an over-thirties night (although Cassie had found no trouble in gaining entry, wearing her tee shirt with thirteen of the twenty-seven dares already ticked. O'Neill made a mental note to talk to her about that the following morning). She was sitting next to Teal'c behind a glass of coke. The jaffa was apparently equally as sober.

O'Neill realised moving his legs was proving difficult and opted for the shuffling kind of dance favoured by drunken men over the age forty at parties.

Daniel was also in a state of extreme intoxication which explained his exuberant if somewhat erratic bopping. Of the three Carter was the only one still moving with a degree of coordination, dancing unselfconsciously and with every sign of enjoyment.

* * *

By three o'clock O'Neill was beginning to sober up. He had pulled on his own shirt over his bridesmaid's one and was sitting on the wall outside the club, having decided he needed some fresh air. The bouncer had stamped his hand, rather enthusiastically and it was still throbbing, so he could gain re-entry and find the others; but right at this moment he felt he required a moment of peace.

There was an sharp increase in the volume of song that was playing inside, previously muted by the walls of the club, as the door opened. Someone stumbled down the stairs, coming to rest beside him on the wall. He could see out of the corner of his eye, Carter's legs, encased in denim jeans and stretched out in front of her. He turned to look at her somewhat muzzily.

"Good night?" he asked.

"Mm-hm."

"Good."

She giggled slightly and he found himself wondering just how much alcohol she had imbibed. "You've put your shirt back on." He'd removed the damn deely-boppers as well, but she didn't appear to have noticed.

"It's cold out here," he said, by way of explanation.

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"I hadn't noticed." This appeared to concern her. She slumped down slightly, meaning her shoulder was now pressed against his. "God, I'm so drunk." She shook her head as if this could clear the befuddlement of her senses.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. O'Neill spoke eventually, needing to ask the question that had been buzzing around his brain a lot in recent times. "Are you happy?"

She nodded emphatically. "I am. I really love him."

Strangely, this didn't have the heart-breaking, soul-destroying effect O'Neill had expected it to. He felt slightly sad, but not particularly jealous or insane with misery. He decided that was a good sign.

He was looking right at her again, gazing deeply into her eyes and she read the honesty in his face,."I'm glad."

"Thank you," she replied instantly, instinctively.

"For what?" he asked, nonplused, looking at his feet.

"For understanding. I didn't think you'd make it this easy..."

He filled his cheeks with air and let out the breath. "What else is there to do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But thank you for not doing it." She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed him lightly on the cheek.

The sadness hit him in a rush. A chaste kiss was all they ever would, ever could share; the realisation assailed him with a shocking suddenness and the wretchedness hit him like a hammer.

As she drew away he turned his head towards hers once more, their close proximity meaning they were almost nose to nose. The sadness written so clearly on his face made her heart lurch. She knew the cause of his misery and would have given anything to heal it.

He knew what was going to happen as he sat there and stared at her, felt guilty for it, but was still powerless to resist as her head drew imperceptibly but inevitably closer to his for an infinite moment.

Their lips touched and the part of him that was always sober, always on watch, started to yammer. _This is wrong!_

He ignored it; as she did. His eyes closed to mirror hers as they remained frozen, their lips brushing one another's.

And suddenly their lips weren't just brushing; neither of them willing to say who had initiated the deeper, fiercer kiss and neither of them much caring. It was a soldier's kiss, the kiss only a warrior could know; a kiss that was tainted with the awareness that it could be the final kiss shared with the woman, or man, you loved. O'Neill had once kissed his wife in the same way.

Neither of them was aware of the passage of time as their hands slid over warm skin and fabrics, entwining, releasing; until they were holding one another in their arms.

The noise from inside the club blared again as more people moved through the open door. They ignored it.

"Oh my God."

The words, or more accurately the voice, made them jerk apart as if they had been electrically shocked.

Cassie, the speaker, stood between Daniel and Teal'c at the top of the stairs; staring openmouthed.

They sprang still further apart; filled with a guilty horror. O'Neill found his voice first. "Nothing.. Uh, nothing..." he stumbled over the words; unable to utter the lie.

Daniel cleared his throat and O'Neill felt the flicker of utter hatred rear sickening inside him before he doused the emotion. "Obviously nothing," Daniel said dryly.

O'Neill stood up so suddenly Cassie flinched, trying to keep his anger under control. Carter, feeling physically sick with guilt, saw his fist clench until his knuckles were white; held behind his back. "Are we leaving?" he snapped.

"I believe it is time we returned home O'Neill," Teal'c said calmly. He shifted slightly, Jack realised, so he was blocking the path between General and archeologist.

"Fine by me. Carter?"

She responded to the voice of authority, snapping to attention. "And me," she murmured.

Daniel held O'Neill's furious gaze for a moment and then started to walk away, following Cassie to the car. Teal'c trailed them without comment, leaving them alone again; perhaps believing they needed to speak to one another.

There was nothing to say. Carter couldn't even meet her former CO's eyes, simply walked to the car like a woman walking to her death. Daniel was sat in the front with Cassie, meaning they were forced to sit squashed together in the back of the car. O'Neill stared past Teal'c out of one window as she stared out of the other. No one spoke.

They arrived back at Carter's house. Somehow, O'Neill doubted she was going to invite them all in for coffee. Unusually, it was Teal'c that broke the spell as they clambered out onto her drive and then stood in awkwardness. He touched Carter's shoulder.

"I will take Daniel Jackson home. I believe Cassie can drive O'Neill safely also."

Carter was trembling slightly. "Thanks Teal'c," she replied, voice low. She hugged him and Daniel goodbye. O'Neill steadfastly ignored them, staring at the paving stones of the drive between his feet.

"I'm just..." Cassie muttered, clambering back into the car and maneuvering it back onto the street. The glow from the headlights cast the area into strange relief.

"Carter. We were both drunk. It doesn't matter," O'Neill managed, speaking to his sneakers.

"I know."

More silence, filled with the hum of the car engine. "I'll see you."

"Yeah. Bye Jack." Her voice was flat, uncaring. She sensed him stiffen, body held taut as a bow string. There was a slight delay and then suddenly he spoke again, voice choked with bitter anger.

"Bye."

He stalked down the drive and into the car, slamming the door and resolutely not looking at her as he was driven away. She stood stock still on her drive, still shaking. Eventually, when the light from the headlamps had long faded from her sight, she moved to open her front door and re-enter her house.

* * *

She moved neurotically from room to room, unable to settle, picking up and moving random articles only to replace them. The question spinning round her mind began to repeat over and over again in her head like a mantra; the words bleeding together.

_Why him?_

Of all the people to have kissed, why Jack O'Neill? She was over him, had dealt with him, confined him to the previous chapter of her life. She had ruled off, turned over the page and started a new entry. She loved Pete, she was _marrying _him, for cryin' out loud!

She realised what she had thought and her pacing quickened.

She refused to dwell on the kiss, to even let it enter her mind. It meant nothing to her. "Nothing!" she shouted aloud to an empty home.

Suddenly drained of her manic energy, she decided to go to bed. With any luck this would seem better in the morning. Or she might have forgotten events completely, thanks to her excessive consumption of alcohol.


	7. We Can't Talk

A loud knock at the door the following morning woke her. She groaned. It felt as if someone was going berserk with a hammer inside her skull. Resolving never to drink ever again she dragged herself upright. "Coming!" she yelled, wincing at the sound of her own voice. Pulling on a flannel dressing gown and slipping her feet into the matching slippers Pete had bought for her she hurried downstairs, trying to fill the gaps alcohol had left in her memory.

She pulled open the door. Daniel was standing on her doorstep, looking slightly awkward. "Hi," he said, "Did I wake you?"

She nodded, regretting moving her head instantly. "No problem. Come on in."

He followed her inside. "I don't think I've ever had such a headache," he confessed.

"Me neither. Uh, do you want a coffee or something?" she asked, becoming more and more aware of her smudged make-up she apparently hadn't bothered to remove and sleep mussed hair.

"I know where the kettle is," he assured her, "Is Pete back?"

"No. He's staying at his place. Didn't want to disturb each other. And he suffers with his hangovers far more than I do. He said he didn't want me to have to clean up all that vomit."

Daniel looked as if he'd rather not have been treated to that gem of information. "I was wondering," he said, finally getting to the point, "If you were alright after the events of last night?"

He was looking at her as if his words should mean something to her. "I can't remember most of it," she confessed.

He looked slightly suspicious and she felt her heart sink slightly with misgivings. "Look, can I just grab a shower? Then we can talk. I didn't do anything too terrible, did I?" she asked, smiling.

Daniel gave her a blank look and her heart sank still further. "I'll make you some coffee too," he answered evasively.

She showered hurriedly, trying to coax the hazy memories out of her aching mind. The events of the night played before her unseeing eyes as the hot water hit her body.

_"Oh, for cryin' out loud, no," he pleaded desperately. "Please, no. I will look outrageously homosexual."_

She smiled in remembrance of O'Neill's reaction to his outfit.

_"Good night?" he asked._

_"Mm-hm."_

_"Good."_

Where had that conversation taken place? Outside the club?

_"Are you happy?"_

_She nodded emphatically. "I am. I really love him."_

"Oh no," she breathed as the memories flooded back.

_"Thank you," she replied instantly, instinctively._

_"For what?" he asked, nonplused, looking at his feet._

_"For understanding. I didn't think you'd make it this easy..." _

_He filled his cheeks with air and let out the breath. "What else is there to do?"_

_She shrugged. "I don't know. But thank you for not doing it." She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed him lightly on the cheek. _

She rested her head against the cool, wet tiles of the shower wall, and groaned. She killed the water supply and dried herself quickly, dressing inattentively in the first clothes that came to hand. Her hair was still sopping wet and standing on end as she thumped down the stairs and back into the living room. Daniel was massaging his sore head, two steaming mugs of coffee on the table in front of him. He pushed one, on its coaster, across to her.

She took a sip of the scalding hot, bitter drink and relished the flicker of fire it sent through her. "I kissed him, didn't I?" There was no point beating about the bush. The reason for Daniel's visit was obviously her somewhat less than platonic clinch with her former CO.

"I think that could be stretching the term slightly," he informed her; voice light but without humor, "I believe Cassie calls it necking."

Sam felt the blush flood her cheeks, heat rising to her face and neck. "We were drunk," she said quietly, as if it was the reason for their behaviour.

"So was I. I didn't start snogging Teal'c, though."

"Daniel!" she snapped, her temper already stretched by her headache, "Do you have to be so crass?"

"Sorry," he apologised, looking slightly shamefaced, "Headache," he added by way of explanation, touching his finger to his temple. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay about it all. I mean, without being crass, " She winced as he repeated her clipped words, "That was some clinch..." He left his sentence hanging, as if he expected her to fill in the blanks.

She remained seated, still as a stone, staring into the middle distance. He felt moved to speak again.

"Sam. Without wanting to pry, I just... We all know that things between you and Jack are complicated. I just came to be a pair of ears if you need to talk about things."

She felt the rippled of anger shiver through her, life returning. "Complicated? You mean, am I in love with him?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, you implied it! You want to know if I'm having second thoughts about marrying Pete?"

"Are you?"

She hated Daniel's ability to get ahead of the conversation. With his calm question he had cut short a hastily prepared rant of vitriolic self-justification. Her anger was tempered; she was forced to think and answer clearly. For a moment she understood why Jack O'Neill at times lost his temper so spectactularly with the archeologist. They were opposite ends of the anger spectrum; Daniel was normally calm beyond measure whilst O'Neill's traditional response to almost anything was biting sarcasm.

Her chin jutted out as she considered the issue. She sighed and met his eyes. "Maybe."

He said nothing and she felt moved to continue.

"I _do_ love him." She wondered who she was convincing with her impassioned statement, Daniel or herself. "Jack is just... with Jack things are-" her frustration returned at her inability to frame the problem eloquently caused her to shout again- "Oh I don't know! Complicated." She returned to Daniel's original descriptor; her head flopping into her hands.

"I think you should talk to Jack. Honestly. Sort things out once and for all."

"I can't." It sounded pathetic, even to her.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, unexpected but welcome comfort. "I'm really sorry Sam. I know you never wanted this."

"Ya think?" she murmured, unthinkingly, and Daniel winced.

"For what it's worth I think they're both great guys."

"That doesn't really help me," she replied, raising her head. He was shocked to note her eyes were over-bright with held back tears.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

"Make yourself happy Sam. Whoever you choose, whatever happens; make yourself happy."

"That's a little selfish, isn't it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in a manner so reminiscent of Teal'c it almost made him laugh.

"This is your _life_, Sam. Selfish doesn't come into it."

There was a long pause. "Thanks for coming around Daniel."

"No problem."


	8. Not That Kind Of Man

_"Thank you," she replied instantly, instinctively._

_"For what?" he asked, nonplused, looking at his feet._

_"For understanding. I didn't think you'd make it this easy..." _

_He filled his cheeks with air and let out the breath. "What else is there to do?"_

_She shrugged. "I don't know. But thank you for not doing it." She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed him lightly on the cheek. _

The memories danced in his alcohol-fuelled, disturbing dreams; mingling reality and fantasy. At one point he was holding Carter in his arms, and then she was snatched away; the lingering warmth of her lips on his a tantalising reminder that was still haunting him when he opened his eyes.

A gap in the curtains meant the sunlight from outside had infiltrated his bedroom, playing on his face. He wondered what time it was, and groped for his alarm clock.

The door to his bedroom opened. He protectively pulled the blankets up higher as Cassie entered, bearing a tray. "Coffee. Breakfast," she stated simply, plonking the tray on his knees. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," he replied, his voice hoarse, "You shouldn't have... you don't have to..."

"No, I don't but I wanted to," she informed him, smiling slightly. She waited until she had reached the door before she asked the question, electing to hover nervously half-in and half-out of the room as she awaited his answer. "Bad dreams?"

He sipped his coffee before answering. Cassie was a terrible coffee-maker. It tasted frankly poisonous. "What makes you say that?"

"You were talking in your sleep," she informed him, matter of factly, "Shouting actually."

He nodded. "Bad dreams."

She pursed her lips, as if considering saying something other than what she eventually settled for: "Daniel's downstairs."

O'Neill groaned. "Tell him to save the... whatever... for later." He didn't think he could face another question and answer session with wannabe-psychologist Jackson.

She shrugged and he regretted giving her the order; as if she was an airman on his base. "Forget it. I'll tell him myself."

He waited until she had descended the stairs before moving the tray and lurching out of bed. He dressed inattentively, drained the rest of his coffee (wincing at the grainy texture of the last dregs) and thumped his way downstairs.

"Hi," said Daniel, waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.

O'Neill groaned and held his aching head. "Morning Daniel."

"Actually, it's more sort of mid afternoon..."

"Whatever. Why are you here, anyway?" O'Neill cut him off brusquely, stalking into his living room and forcing the archeologist to follow him.

"I just thought you might like someone to talk to-"

"Nope. I'm fine."

Daniel closed his eyes briefly. "You don't think-"

"No."

His eyes snapped open. "Jack, stop being an ass. You have to talk to her."

O'Neill's face screwed up in anger. "I don't have to do anything," he spat back, an unpleasant look in his eyes.

Daniel's temper broke. "Oh, for God's sake Jack. Fine! Fine! Just sit around and mope and do nothing. Like normal."

"I do NOT mope!" O'Neill yelled back, standing up furiously before regaining control of his temper.

Daniel's own face had taken on a sour look. "I didn't come here to get shouted at, Jack. I want to try and help--"

"I don't need your _help_!" O'Neill found himself shouting back.

"Evidently," Daniel returned, standing himself. "See you on base, Jack."

O'Neill didn't move from the sofa until he heard the door slam shut. He thumped the arm of his sofa as hard as he could and then buried his face in his hands.

"He's right you know," a soft voice said and he raised his head.

"I'm sorry Cass," he began, having forgotten she had been in the kitchen throughout the entirety of his heated exchange with Daniel.

She quieted him with a wave of her hand. "He's right. You need to talk to her."

He bit his tongue in an effort not to snap the terse reply back at her. She sat down in the chair Daniel had vacated and he sighed.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

He shook his head, unable to say the words that burned in his brain to anyone else.

_Because I'm scared it meant a hell of a lot more to me than it did to her. Because if I see her then she'll tell me it doesn't matter, that we were drunk, that it was stupid. And yeah, I was drunk but it _did _mean something and it _does _matter._

Because he wasn't that kind of man, never would be and never could be. Jack O'Neill didn't talk about feelings, he buried them, dealt with them. He didn't break down and cry, to be comforted by a young woman who was so much better at understanding these things than he was; however much he wanted to.


	9. Mutual Screw Up

O'Neill had intended to avoid Carter that Monday. When someone held open the elevator door for him on the surface of the mountain complex he thanked them without looking up from the mission report he was clutching.

"No problem," Carter replied, softly.

He swore inwardly and looked up. "Morning."

The uncomfortable silence stretched between them until O'Neill felt moved to break it.

"Let's not do this," he said, voice harsh.

"Sorry?" she murmured, blinking as if she was snapping back to reality from far away.

"Let's not... be awkward, ok?" he paused as she goggled slightly at him and then pushed on, "I wouldn't want things... to be like that."

She exhaled slowly, obviously relieved. "Me neither."

Again silence, broken by the groaning of elevator machinery, but less discomforting. The lift stopped at level nineteen; the level of Carter's lab. She pushed the 'open door' button.

"See you later... Jack."

He did not reply and she left him to continue deeper into the mountain, musing on the pause before his name; the soft way she had spoken it and staring at the report without seeing it.

* * *

Carter had re-adjusted and re-calibrated seven pieces of equipment, burnt out nearly a meter of copper wire for no apparent purpose and written three more lines of her paper on naquada decay rates when she became aware of what she was doing.

"Displacement activities..." She sighed, self-mocking, "I've been reduced to displacement activities..."

_"I think you should talk to Jack_."

How difficult could it be? To actually talk like a sensible adult about what had happened, about how she felt, how he felt...?

_"Let's not... be awkward, ok?"_

Filled suddenly with a determination she had never known she stepped out of her lab, locked the door and headed towards the elevator. She pushed the button for Jack's floor and leaned back against the steel wall.

_His smell filled her world, the pleasant aroma of his aftershave and the more musky scent that was uniquely his own; a scent that was, on a deeper level, the more pleasant of the two. His mouth moved on hers, his hands sliding over her back, touching her face. _

The memory made her waver, unsure of how she could deal with talking about, and maybe destroying in the process, one of the most beautiful moments of her life, however wrong that moment was. Then the concern passed and her hesitancy only increased her resolution to see this through. She knocked on his office door before she could think about it, before she could debate the merits of knocking or not knocking and talk herself out of this.

"Come in."

She did as he instructed. He was reading mission reports at his desk, a look of vague perplexity on his face. He looked up and his face seemed to close down somehow, taking on a blank look that gave nothing away.

"Carter."

"Jack."

"What can I do for you?"

She paused for a moment and then kicked his office door shut. Turning back to him she saw his mask had slipped and there was a look of half-fear and half-hope on his face.

She could not have stopped the words from escaping even if she had tried. "Does it really not matter?"

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers, brown locked on blue. He did not trust his throat not to creak, so instead he shook his head.

The movement, small enough to be almost imperceptible, had a shocking effect on the former Colonel. She sagged, for a moment he thought she might collapse like a marionette with all her strings cut, but she regained some strength. "No."

He realised he was shaking. He stood up, suddenly wishing they weren't so visible inside the office, the men and women in the control room could see them quite clearly through the star map. "No," he said, voice clear now.

"We should talk about this," she said, her voice quavering slightly.

"Not here," he replied quickly.

"Not here," she agreed, "Uh. Mac's Bar. You know it?"

"Yeah."

"Seven."

"Ok."

He watched her stumble out of his office, regain her composure as she walked away from him and tried to ignore the thumping of his heart, which suddenly seemed too large for his chest.

* * *

She wondered why she was here. Why this felt like a betrayal of Pete. She hadn't lied to him, not exactly. She had said she was meeting a friend for a drink, and she was.

_That's not that point,_ her conscience prodded her. She ignored the voice, scanning the bar. Jack was late. She wondered if that meant-

The door opened and she gulped nervously. He stood framed in the lintel, glancing across the crowded room until his gaze fell on her. He walked over, slowly, his steps measured and deliberate.

He stood too close to her, voice low as he spoke. "Fancy seeing you here."

So he didn't feel any better about this than she did. She swallowed again. "Hi Jack."

"Want a drink? I could sure as hell do with one."

She nodded, not caring. "Just a coke. I'm driving."

He ordered a Guinness and a Diet Coke, remembering she liked the taste better. He set down her drink on the bar and took a swig from his own, savouring the taste.

"Talk," he said after a moment filled only with the din of the rest of the room.

"I don't know what to say," she confessed.

"Me neither," he shrugged; nervousness making the movement and tone of his voice too aggressive. The barman shot O'Neill a glance and murmured something to his assistant. O'Neill returned the look with a black one of his own. He took another sip of his beer and appeared to reach a conclusion.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," he said, putting down the glass, "I do know what I want to say. I love you. Don't marry him."

Carter's breath caught in her throat. "Whu-what?"

He simply looked at her, knowing she had heard. He was too close again, the distance between his body and hers too small, he was making clear thinking difficult. "I know," she managed.

He nodded, almost to himself. "I know you know. That's why I thought... thought that what I wanted to say didn't matter. That I never needed to say it, because you knew." He broke off, looking slightly perplexed, apparently having managed to confuse himself.

Carter understood his words perfectly. "I love Pete," she said, in a small voice.

"I know that too."

She chugged her coke, desperate for anything to do other than face the enormity of their situation. "I do care about yo-" she began.

"No you don't," he said, cutting her off. She opened her mouth to argue, her forehead creasing in annoyance but he continued. "If you _cared _about me you wouldn't be here. You'd be with Pete right now."

The angry response on the tip of her tongue died a fiery death and she simply responded with a soft syllable more sigh than word. "Aah-" She tried again. "This is coming to grips with a vengeance," she replied softly.

"I don't have long left to plead my case," he stated simply, "You marry Pete in two weeks. Remember?"

Stop it," she spat back, a bite of warning in her voice. "I didn't make this situation by myself."

It was his turn to skid in mid sentence. "No," he was forced to concede, "It was a mutual screw-up."

He finished his beer.

"So what happens now?" she asked, following suite with her coke.

He sighed. "I don't know." He knew she wanted him to present her with some magical answer, the same way she had done so often in a dangerous situation off world, with a million and one pieces of alien technology.

He had no answer; had only the desperate, burning desire within him to kiss her again, as if that could make it all better, make everything else go away. Because it did, everything did go away, if only for a moment. He left the world behind and circled the moon when she was in his arms, however cliched or ridiculously romantic that notion was. It was like being seventeen and in love for the first time again.

And so he kissed her.


	10. Simple Choice

"I too am curious as to what was your next course of action."

O'Neill sighed deeply, not quite able to meet Teal'c's eyes.

"I kissed her."

Daniel drew a sharp breath. "You _kissed _her?"

"Yeah."

There was a long silence. "Smart move," the archeologist responded in his all-too-unsubtle voice of sarcasm.

"No kidding," O'Neill replied, dead pan, not allowing his temper to best him again.

"You really kissed her?" Daniel still looked skeptical.

"Yes! Will you stop checking!"

Daniel sat back in his chair, sensing O'Neill was close to snapping, his fingers knitting together. Teal'c remained as impassive and unreadable as ever. "On Chulak to attempt relations with a woman betrothed to another man would invoke the penalty of death."

O'Neill sighed. "You know, sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to get anything done on Chulak. Penalty of death for this, penalty of death for that... Seriously."

Teal'c's face remained indifferent. "Pete would be well within his rights to challenge you to a duel to the death."

Daniel cut in quickly, as O'Neill's face brightened slightly.. "I don't think Sam would be very happy if she knew we were discussing her like this."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Daniel, sometimes you are so damn.._.pious_ it really pis-"

"Jack, don't take this out on me."

O'Neill blinked, shocked at Daniel's quick and quite unexpected reaction. "Sorry," he mumbled, "You're right.. I just-"

"Needed some reassurance. I know. I hope things work out. But I can't tell you what's going to happen Jack. There are some things you have to work out for yourself."

"For my part, I would be most happy to see you and Samantha embark on a relationship. However, I am uncomfortable at the thought of you dishonoring her by attempting to do so while she is betrothed to another," Teal'c added.

"Thanks," O'Neill replied bitterly, "Thanks, both of you. You're really making me feel great. I can tell you."

"Tell her how you feel Jack-"

"I have."

"Then the next move is hers."

O'Neill put his head in his hands. "That's what worries me."

* * *

She had crept in to her home, hoping Pete had been called into work, had gone back to his own place for some reason, anything.

He hadn't. He opened the door as she was fumbling for her keys, her hands still slightly shaking. "Hi honey. Did you have a good time?"

She stepped inside, into the brightly lit hallway. "Fine," she replied briskly, making to move past him.

He touched her arm lightly as he shut the door. "Are you okay? You seem a little... distracted."

She stumbled to find the words feeling as if her shame was smeared in red paint all over her, a visible marker of where O'Neill had touched her. "Just... stuff from work. You know."

"Anything you can talk about?"

"Not.. Uh.. Not really."

He stroked her cheek, brushing behind her ear an errant strand of hair another man had dislodged a mere half an hour earlier. "Okay. I understand. I made you some dinner, if you want?"

She wished that the touch of his hand repulsed her. She wished he wasn't so kind. Because that would make a choice easier, simpler.

But his touch didn't repulse her, and whilst it didn't make the blood sing in her veins and a flush rise in her cheeks as the same touch would with Jack, she understood that it was the familiarity of the gesture that made it so. She did love Pete, and that made choosing to leave him or not to leave him, so much harder.

"Thanks."

"No problem." He kissed her, and again she felt a stab of guilt.

She ate her dinner quickly, curling up next to him on the sofa to watch some TV. "The sale on my house is probably gonna come through," he said as a commercial break started.

She felt her insides freeze. "That's great!" she lied.

"I know. Then we can start looking for a new place and sell off this place."

"Really great," she said, kissing his cheek and wishing he would shut up, stop talking about the house they would share as husband and wife.

He went to bed at eleven as he had an early start, hopeful that she would accompany him. She didn't, feigning extreme interest in a late night science program. He looked slightly hurt but didn't press her. Sometimes, when she had a bad day at work; when they lost someone or nearly lost someone or something went badly wrong she could be distant with him. He had come to understand that and accept it. So he went to bed alone and when she crept upstairs two hours later he was peacefully asleep.

She climbed carefully into bed next to him, close enough to feel his warmth under the covers, and stared at the ceiling.

_People would say she was lucky, having two good men fighting for her affections._

She didn't feel lucky. Anyway, it wasn't a fight when one man barely knew of the other's existence.

_People would say it was a simple choice. Who did she love the most? She should simply follow her heart._

That was the problem. She had never followed her heart in her life, had always let her head make the decisions and now her head and heart were in dispute.

_Who did she love the most?_

The answer was simple: Jack O'Neill _but..._

There _were_ complications.

She knew a part of that 'love' came from the fact they could never express their feelings for one another.

That part of it was frustration, a compounding of the original feelings that had existed between them.

Part of it was the fact that they had never had a relationship in the normal sense, their feelings had never been allowed to stagnate.

Part of it was lust, pure physical attraction.

She knew O'Neill was willing to die for her, he had once said as much. But she also knew that Pete would die for her; she could read that even though he _hadn't _said it. How much of what she felt for O'Neill was comparable to what she felt for Pete? Wouldn't her feelings for O'Neill fade with time as they had with Pete?

What if they faded _more_?

Another issue was the fact that so much money and time had been invested into this relationship, by herself yes, but it had to be said, mostly by Pete. How could she repay this man by spurning him, changing her mind after agreeing to spend the rest of her life with him? She wasn't the kind of woman who could stand a man up at the altar, after all the time, effort and money that had gone into making it happen?

She had resigned to be with Pete, not Jack. Was it simply itchy feet that made her long dormant love for O'Neill reawaken now it was no longer illegal for them to have a relationship?

Pete was selling his house, the house he had only recently _bought_ just so he could live closer to her...

Could she live with the guilt of rebuffing him..?

Sleep was a long time coming.


	11. The Other Man

It was half past six when the doorbell rang. Vaguely annoyed (she'd only just sat down after seeing the dress-fitter out) she got up to answer it.

It was raining outside; she could hear the patter of the drops on the windows. She opened the door, her mind still full of the indescribable feeling she had sensed when trying on her wedding dress.

Jack O'Neill, soaked from head to toe, stood on her doorstep. She took a step back in shock, not sure of what to say.

"Can I come in?" he asked. A bead of water ran the length of his nose, dripping off the end. She shivered.

"Yeah. Uh, what are you doing...?"

He stepped inside, the water pooling off him and onto her hall carpet.

"Is Pete in?" he asked, looking past her.

"No," she replied, growing slightly suspicious, "I've just had a dress fitting... he's at his place."

He rocked back on his heels. "A dress fitting... So, that means you're still...?" He left the question hanging.

"Why are you so wet?" she asked, instead of answering. She wasn't sure she _knew_ the answer anymore.

"I walked. It rained," he explained.

"And your car was...?"

"With Cassie," he winced.

"And so you walked here."

"Yeah."

_Why?_ She didn't have to ask the question, and she was pretty certain she already knew the answer.

"Um. Could I borrow a towel?"

She smiled in spite of herself and the dangerous situation.

"Course." He slipped his shoes off and followed her to her bathroom. She pulled a warm towel out of the airing cupboard and gave it to him.

Their fingers touched under the material. She blushed. He took the towel from her and rubbed it through his hair, patting his face dry. His tee shirt was sticking to him and she could see every muscle in his torso. Her stomach leapt and she dragged her eyes away, guilty at her uncontrollable reaction.

He put the towel on the rack, staring at it as he spoke. "You're going to marry him, aren't you?"

Her heart plummeted. "I think-I do-" She stopped, took a deep breath and then continued. "Yes."

His shoulders sagged slightly and he turned to look at her, a crooked smile on his lips. "I knew you would. It was a feeble..." He broke off. "I should go."

She bit her lip. He nodded, almost to himself and made to move past her.

"Don't."

She wasn't aware that she had spoken the word aloud until he stopped.

"Don't?"

"Just stay. For a while. Please."

There was a long pause.

"Ok," he replied, voice rough.

She thought she might cry. "I'm sorry Jack," she whispered.

"Come here," he said in reply, voice equally as thick.

He hugged her, as he had hugged her nearly a year ago, when Janet had died and she had nearly lost him, too.

Except this time, he didn't bury his face in her neck and gently brush the skin with his lips. This time he drew back from her shoulder and kissed her on the mouth, as he had in the bar.

He broke away from her mouth and stood, his forehead against hers, still sopping wet, in her bathroom. The strangeness of the situation was almost comical, but he didn't feel much like laughing. "I should have resigned a long time ago."

She sniffed. "Probably."

He kissed her again and she was horrified to find herself responding to his kiss as she had on her hen night. Pete was driven from her mind, all guilt gone. She loved _Jack_, loved him more than anyone else she had ever loved in her life. She had loved him for a long time. The realisation flooded through her, shocking as a dunking in icy water.

She wasn't betraying Pete by kissing Jack, she was betraying Jack by marrying Pete. Jack wasn't 'the other man.'

Pete was.

The half-remember feelings; the longing she had buried, continued to bury, filled her mind as she kissed him. Sam and Jack. They went together, naturally as breathing.

_I thought I was over him..._ the rational part of her brain argued.

_Guess you were wrong._

Her hands slid under his wet shirt, touching the muscles her stomach had filled with butterflies at the sight of. Unthinkingly he pulled off the wet garment, still kissing her, her face in his hands.

There was nothing wrong about this scenario, she realised. This felt natural, it felt _right_.

His hands slid to her own shirt, fumbling her buttons undone, and she knew at that moment exactly how far things were going to go

And it felt right.

* * *

He left her house at quarter past eight. She watched him walk down her driveway, longing to walk with him, to spend more time with him. He kept turning back to look at her, a wonder in his eyes. When he was almost out of sight she shut the door, leant against it.

Pete would be home soon.

With that thought, all of the wonder in the events of the past hour collapsed. She fell to the floor, back still pressing against the wood of the door. She had-They had-

And she was engaged to Pete. How could she tell Pete that she no longer wanted to be with him? That is was a mistake, that she was still in love with a man he so reminded her of but could never be? And that she had come to realise all of this by cheating on him?

She ran to her bathroom and threw up violently, the physical effect of her mental anguish. There was water on the carpet from where they had stood and kissed, from where O'Neill's shed shirt had been cast aside. There were watery footprints into the bedroom. (_Their bedroom_, her guilty thoughts shouted, _The bedroom she shared with Pete.)_ She followed them. The bed was a mess, covers rumpled and creased, the taint of a wet body everywhere.

She went back into the bathroom, flushed her toilet and turned on the shower. She washed herself, trying to soap away every trace of O'Neill, every trace of her guilt. When she was done she used the slightly damp towel O'Neill had used to dry his face and hair. She realised it smelt slightly of him and she began to shake. Mentally scolding herself, telling herself to get a grip, she went into the bedroom and made the bed with fresh bedclothes from the linen cupboard.

The sound of Pete making his way up the drive made her knees weak, but she ran down the stairs in her dressing gown. Her hair dripped onto the floor, masking the nearly dry drips cause by O'Neill walking upstairs earlier; all evidence of her 'crime' now removed or hidden.

Pete opened the door to find his fiancee standing in the hall.

"Hi," he said, smiling and kissing her, "Did the fitting go well?"


	12. Duty

I apologise in advance, this is a very bitty chapter... I promise to put the next one up really quickly to make up for it!

* * *

Jack O'Neill couldn't remember the walk home. He _vaguely_ remembered opening his front door to find a damp Cassie and her three closest friends sprawled in front of his television with the remnants of several large pizzas at their sides, because Cassie had paid for them with his credit card and he had thought: _That won't be cheap_. He couldn't have told anyone what flavour pizza he had when he ate one of the cold slices.

He couldn't remember, or think, about anything else but Samantha Carter.

_Her breathing was ragged. "I love you," she whispered into the nape of his neck. "I love you Jack."_

He went upstairs and sat on his bed, staring at the wall and thinking of nothing but her.

Of the way it had felt to finally, _finally_ hold her in his arms.

Of the way she kissed.

Of -he started to grin-of the way she did _other things_ related to kissing but not in anyway like kissing.

For once in his life he felt truly glad that today he was Jack O'Neill. For once, it seemed like his life was going alright. Better than alright even. Going _great_.

He fell backward onto his bed.

* * *

Carter lay in bed, next to her sleeping fiancé. Lay in the bed that she had, less than four hours ago lain in with another man.

And she felt terrible.

Terrible because she knew all that she wanted was to spend another time like that with Jack O'Neill.

And terrible because she knew she could never let herself.

Pete had sold his house.

And she would marry him, because that was the _right _thing to do. To be with another man was the _wrong _thing to do. Even if when she was with that other man, being with that other man - why couldn't she say his name?- being with _Jack,_ felt like the _right _thing and marrying Pete seemed the _wrong_ thing. Her sense of duty would prevail.

And that was why she cried through the night whilst O'Neill slept soundly and dreamt pleasant dreams about her.

* * *

She told him by leaving a message on his answering machine, nine days before her wedding day. She purposely booked the week off work before her wedding and 'phoned him on the Friday night, when she knew he'd still be on base.

She left the message on the machine and pulled her 'phone cord out of its socket so he couldn't reach her. Then she locked all her doors and windows and went out with Pete.

_"I'm sorry Jack... It was a stupid mistake. I... I hope we can still be friends. If you don't want to be a bridesmaid anymore then I understand... Uh.. I'll see you soon. Um. Bye."_

Not exactly the most eloquent of messages, but it would get the point across. Of that she was sure_._

* * *

'_The bluebird of happiness long absent from his life, Ned is visited by the chicken of depression.'_

O'Neill stared at the cartoon, a re-run of an old _'Far-Side.'_ It was on the open page of the newspaper someone (presumably Cassie) had been reading and had left on his sofa. The chicken of depression. That sounded about right.

He started to laugh, alone in his house, the message light still blinking on his answering machine, as he had cut off Carter's voice after she has told him '_I hope we can still be friends.'_

It was a laugh that danced with insanity, and when he stopped to draw breath the laughter transmuted into tears; tears he hadn't cried since Charlie had died.

Charlie. Thinking of him had a strangely calming affect on O'Neill. However much this hurt, nothing could ever top the pain of losing his son. He would survive. He would endure.

He wondered if it was worth it.

The front door opened and Cassie called out. "Jack? Are you home?"

"I'm in here."

He could hear her feet padding on the carpet as she moved towards him. He wiped his still streaming eyes guiltily as she pushed open the door.

"Hi Jack I-" She stopped. "What's happened?"

"Nothing, I uh-"

Cassie's eyes darted to the blinking light on the answer machine. She ran for it and O'Neill scrambled after her.

She pushed the button as he reached her. "Don't!" died on his lips as the machine played the message.

_I'm sorry Jack... It was a stupid mistake. I... I hope we can still be friends. If you don't want to be a bridesmaid anymore then I understand... Uh.. I'll see you soon. Um. Bye."_

And to his utter disgust, Jack found himself shaking again, tears splashing down his tee shirt. Cassie's lower lip trembled as she watched him break down. Then she simply put her arms around his neck and cried with him, into his chest.

"I'm sorry Jack, I'm so sorry Jack.."

Her words washed over him, a comforting mantra and he managed to calm the trembling in his limbs. "I'm okay."

"You don't sound it."

"Why are you crying?" he asked, stupidly, unable to talk about himself.

_Because... because she's destroying you. And herself. It's terrible to watch, it's like seeing a car crash and knowing that all you can do is pick the bodies from the wreckage. You're heading for a disaster of epic proportions._

Cassie looked at his face and realised she could never say those words.

"Because it's so sad," she lied.


	13. Naturally As Breathing

I feel an explanation is necessary... apart from the snippet of preamble, this chapter was the story I dashed off when I should have been revising... I'm not sure if it entirely works within the story that grew up around it, but the previous 12 chapters have been building up to this so I'm darn well keeping it in!! :-P And I faithfully promise, from this point on, things can only get better!

* * *

There was always something to live for.

O'Neill had found a not-exactly-new something, and it was Cassie. In the same way thinking of Charlie could take the keen edge off his grief (and it was _grief_) at losing Carter, playing Dad to Cassie had the same effect. It was only yesterday when Cassie had jokingly talked about birthday presents (her eighteenth birthday was a mere four months away!) that he had realised Cassie and Charlie were almost the same age.

Still adamant she was moving in with him after Carter's wedding, she was demanding decoration of the room she inhabited. Currently he was elbow deep in white paint.

The 'phone rang and he swore, making Cassie smile and tut. His hands were covered in paint. "Let the machine catch it."

_Beep._ "Jack, it's Daniel. Sam's got a problem on her hands with Jacob off world and uncontactable... and I wondered if we could cut a deal... I'll do the speech if you'll walk her down the aisle. Ring me when you get this message, will you?"

Cassie put her paintbrush down carefully. "Are you gonna do it?" she asked.

O'Neill stared at the wall, at the drying paint. He swiped flat a swelling bead of paint.

A very large part of him wanted to say no. He doubted Carter knew of Daniel's plan, he could easily back out...

But he wanted to make a speech at her wedding even less than walk her down the aisle. He could manage walking, he wasn't sure about talking. He couldn't tell everyone how happy he was for the couple, how he thought they were well suited... it would be perverse.

"I guess.... I guess I'd better ring Daniel."

* * *

He sat on the bench outside the church. Behind him the crowds of people gathered to watch the wedding were filing through the church doors until he was alone. The world was unearthly quiet and calm; the slightest of breezes rustling the leaves of the trees in the churchyard, a whispering background to his slow and ponderous thoughts.

He remembered at one time feeling numb about this wedding. He wished he still felt that way. The brim of his top hat passed fitfully through his fingers as he turned it round and round, trying to distract himself. The bride's car was late, but that he knew, was normal.

He tipped his hatless head backwards, gazing at the sky. It was cloudy, but the wind would soon clear the grey banks to reveal a sky of perfect blue, just in time for the bride and groom to emerge.

The quiet hum of an expensive car engine made him turn his head. His heart sunk. The limousine, ribbons stretching from the emblem to the front windows, pulled up before him. He stood up slowly, replacing his top hat and fixing a smile on his face.

The driver cut the engine and he moved forward on legs of lead. His fingers, feeling like a bunch of bananas, clumsily manipulated the door handle. He pulled open the door.

Carter was sat furthest from him. He helped Cassie from the car, the teenager beautiful but awkward in her bridesmaidal attire, and his smile turned truthful for the briefest of seconds. "You look lovely," he told her and she stopped self consciously tugging up the neckline of her dress; nodding her thanks.

He held out his arm to Carter and met her eyes for the first time, the same colour as the afternoon's sky would be. He'd never really seen his former second in command dressed glamourously; the few occasions he had seen her in much make-up he hadn't felt quite comfortable: that Carter wasn't the one he knew and loved.

This was. The make-up artist had made her flawless and somehow maintained the essence of her personality through the falsity. He helped her out of the car and she took his arm, facing the lynch-gate.

Cassie was peeping through the church doors, her back expressively towards them. O'Neill thought he saw Daniel's top hat on the other side, watching them.

"You look wonderful," he managed.

"Thank you." Her clutch on his arm was painfully tight.

He didn't ask her if she still wanted to go through with it, or beg her to change her mind because he knew she wouldn't be standing here if his words would have any effect, he simply stepped forward, legs swinging pendulously; the damn memories of her bubbling to the surface of his turbulent consciousness.

They walked forward to the church door, her heart pounding. The part of her that always remained aloof, watching the rest of her, was sickened. She knew the only reason she could go through with this as the fact she was fully aware that the man beside her was suffering exactly the same pain as herself. Her wedding day was fast becoming something else that bound them together, and she hated herself for it.

The door opened and they walked inside, Cassie falling into place now behind them. They walked on, the sound of the organ loud in their ears but not enough to drown out the whispers of the congregation. Carter felt admiring eyed upon her.

Now O'Neill could see Pete lurking nervously at the altar. He resisted the urge to slow his pace and heighten the slightest shade of suspicion already palpable in the groom's eyes. He was grateful for one small mercy, the exquisitely tailored suit he had hired for the event looked better on his taller frame than it did on the shorter, stockier policeman.

Carter's mind circled the differences also, devoid of emotion and uncritical, simply logging points of data as she would in a scientific experiment: the few inches different in height, the angles of the face, even the minute variations in the colours of the suits... they combined to force the inevitable conclusion: despite his age and the sad weariness in his face: O'Neill looked the part of the groom in her fairytale wedding so much more than the obviously skittish Pete.

They reached the altar and O'Neill let go of her arm, relinquishing her to her nearly-husband. Her fingers lingered for a second too long on his arm. She took her place at Pete's side, as O'Neill took his own on her right. Unconsciously he straightened, his posture becoming more and more military as his eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the ceiling.

Carter glanced right and saw his whole body stiffening, fighting his pain in his own unique way, forcing the terrible tumult of emotions to strengthen his limbs and make him as cold and unrelenting as stone. The knuckles of his hands, held behind his back, were turning white.

Later O'Neill would remember nothing of the service, being able only to describe the small patch of wall he had been studying in minute detail. But he remembered their kiss, the first one of married life, and the dreadful walk back up the aisle behind Mr. and Mrs. Shanahan. Daniel and Teal'c fell into step beside him and the cynical core of his being wondered why.

Of all things, Carter remember the kiss most of all. It had been slightly awkward in the sight of 'all gathered here' and, it felt to her, missing something fundamental. Inevitably she found herself comparing it to O'Neill's and, like everything else, it didn't measure up.

_Wasn't that the point of all this? I know I'll always feel that way about Jack, but with Pete things are certain... I know I can make this work. I _do_ love Pete and I won't betray him again for Jack._

She smiled demurely for the photographer, not being able to help feeling that this was an awful lot of philosophising about a decision that should be as easy as breathing.

_Sam and Jack. They went together, naturally as breathing._

The confetti suddenly exploded around them and she jumped, much to the glee of Daniel who had just given the signal. Near the back of the crowd now she saw O'Neill dig his hand into his pocket. He withdrew a handful of rice paper. He threw it and the wind caught it, blowing it away. She watched the petals spill through the air until the became ensnared in the branches of a sapling, the few that fell to the ground trampled by guests.

Her car was waiting.

Bride and groom clambered in, turning to wave at the cheering crowds. Daniel and Teal'c were stood shoulder to shoulder, waving as madly as she was. As the car pulled away she felt the solemn gaze of O'Neill upon her.

He raised his hand in a solitary gesture of goodbye, the bitterness welling up inside him, choking him. They were almost out of sight when they finally faced forward again. He couldn't be sure, but he thought they turned to each other and kissed. He turned his face away and stood watching the tombstones under the whispering trees and feeling utterly alone.

He felt the lightest of touches on his shoulder. "Jack?"

He'd been expecting Daniel, or possibly Teal'c. It was Cassie, looking concerned. He swallowed to clear te lump in his throat.

"Yeah?" He sounded casual, unconcerned.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he repeated. And he was, he realised. She loved him, would always love him. But she had made her choice.

_"I had to move on. Don't hate me for that._"

He didn't hate her, he realised, he admired her. She had done what he never could; made the choice to accept that Jack and Sam-

_It went together as naturally as breathing_

_-_Jack and Sam could never be and she had acted accordingly, with honour.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he said, able now to look away from the graves.

She loved him as he loved her. It was a shared secret he could either drive himself mad dwelling on, or accept for what it was :_ something the shared._

In the shattered world he currently inhabited he had to make it (and the one stolen moment they had shared together) something he was grateful for rather than hateful for.

And he would. Just not right now. Right now, in this time and place and more than anything else, he wanted to drink himself into dreamless oblivion. The post-nuptial party was going to provide him with ample opportunity to do this.

"Come on," he said, slightly distantly, to Cassie. "Don't you want to go to the party?"


	14. Admission of Guilt

Jake had been working on the bar for six months and he'd seen plenty of heavy drinkers in his time. The man sat in front of him now didn't _look _like a drinker, but he was downing glass after glass with a grim determination never to see the dawn of the next day.

The man tapped his now empty shot glass on the bar. "Same again, please."

And that was the other weird thing, the drinker didn't seem that drunk. There was a slight glassiness to his gaze, but he'd looked like that when he sat down. His limbs were steady, his speech normal, not slurred. Jake poured him another shot, against his better judgement.

O'Neill had lost count of how many shots of whiskey he had downed. Not enough, not yet. He was still distressingly conscious and cognitive. Around him the wedding guests danced. He checked his watch. The numbers were blurred slightly but readable, 10:03.

Daniel dropped onto the bar stool next to him. "Hey. Don't you think you've had enough?"

O'Neill gave him a grey look, and took another sip. "I'm not that drunk."

"Hmm."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Hmm like that. I know it means you disagree with me."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Go dance."

Daniel sighed and stood up, knowing O'Neill was spoiling for an argument.

Across the room Pete glanced at the slumped shoulders of his wife's commanding officer. "Sam?"

She turned to him, having been talking to an elderly aunt. "Yeah?"

"We haven't thanked Jack yet. For giving you away."

She stood stock still for a moment. _For giving you away..._ If only Pete knew the true meaning of those words... She looked over and winced. "I don't know if that'd be a good idea. He looks like he's a little worse for wear."

Pete frowned. "Wonder why?"

"I think... I think all this reminds him of his wife. He got divorced after their son... died." The lies tripped neatly off her tongue, scaring her by being so easy to speak.

"Hmm." Pete didn't sound entirely convinced. "I think he was carrying a bit of a torch for you."

She chuckled a little nervously. "You really think?"

Pete smiled, almost indulgently. "Yeah, I think he liked you a bit... Poor Sam, you never realise the effect you have on us poor, helpless men." He kissed her.

"Liked me, huh?" she murmured to herself as Pete moved away to talk to another distant relative. "Was it that obvious?" She swallowed the lump in her throat, blinked away the tears, and followed her husband.

* * *

They were dancing again, Pete and Sam, cheek to cheek. He was drunk enough now for that to make him angry. Very, very angry.

He stood up so violently the chair fell backwards cracking against the bar. In the hubbub of the disco the sound was lost but Cassie looked up to see O'Neill stalking away. She took two hesitant steps to follow him, then changed her mind. There were some things, she decided, she was better not seeing, or hearing. Instead, she went to Daniel and Teal'c. Daniel was building a beer mat tower, watched by a supremely unimpressed Teal'c.

"Jack's just stormed off outside," she said quietly.

Daniel's face seemed to sharpen. "I'll go after him."

"I shall accompany you."

O'Neill was sitting on a low wall outside. Daniel went over and sat next to him, Teal'c hovering in the background.

"Jack?" Daniel was shocked to realise O'Neill was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. His anger had dissolved to be replaced by a feeling of utter hopelessness.

"I screwed her Daniel. I screwed her and now she's screwing me. Screwing me up."

Daniel hesitated, shocked not only by his words but by O'Neill's current state. He'd always known Jack O'Neill possessed this wildly self-destructive side, but he hadn't seen it in eight years.

"You and Sam... uh... you actually...?" He tried to think of the right words, refusing to settle for O'Neill's crude description.

"Yeah. She told me she loved me," his voice was mocking, "And then she married Shanahan."

Daniel was entirely floored by this admission, unable to reconcile his image of Sam with this news. It was such an alien act to her character, betrayal of someone she loved.

"I want to hate her," O'Neill added, his shoulders starting to heave as he sobbed, "But I can't. Even now, I can't."

_Betrayal of someone she loves._

_What if she loves Jack?_

"I think it's time you went home, Jack," Daniel ventured.

"Cassie's enjoying herself," O'Neill replied, wiping cheeks that were already burning with embarrassment.

Daniel paused for a moment and then put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "Don't let it destroy you Jack. Don't."

O'Neill sat, still hunched. Then he nodded. "There's always something to live for."

* * *

To the people I have made miserable, I will say only this. I am a shipper. I believe in the ship. The ship will come in. There may be a while between the next few chapters though, warning you now, I don't have computer access for a week.


	15. Advice

O'Neill resisted a full three days before 'phoning the number she had given him, a long time ago, telling him to call her if he ever needed to talk.

She picked up the 'phone and answered. "Hello?"

"Hi Sara."

"Jack?" she sounded surprised, and a little nervous.

"A while ago you said I should call you if I needed a talk."

"Uh, yeah, yeah I did. Now's not such a good time though, Jack."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No, don't hang up. Uh, do you wanna meet for a coffee or something like that? Talk face to face? I'm free in a few hours time. What's bothering you?"

"Uh, the coffee sounds good. What time?" he asked, deliberately avoiding answering the last question.

Sara wasn't fooled; however, she knew O'Neill well enough not to push him. "Umm. Better make it three o'clock. That okay?"

"That's great. See you then."

"Bye then, Jack."

"Bye."

* * *

He only vaguely remembered where Sara was living these days, and got lost trying to find her house. Consequently he was fifteen minutes late knocking on the door of the slice of suburbia she shared with her new husband. O'Neill couldn't remember his name.

She opened the door, looking decidedly uneasy, and ushered him inside.

"What's bothering you, Jack?" she asked as he sat on her sofa. There was coffee already made for him, exactly how he liked it, steaming on the table.

"Uh... It's kind of hard to say."

Her eyes widened slightly and suddenly realisation dawned for O'Neill. "It's not about... Not anything to do with... uh, us."

"Oh." She looked relieved.

"I, I just wanted to talk to someone who wasn't... I mean, someone who knows me but doesn't know who I'm talking about."

"Okay..."

He licked his lips nervously. "I, uh, I think I've fallen in love."

She studied his face, suspecting he might be joking. Deciding his statement was genuine she sat back, half-smiling.

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"She's married to another guy."

"Ouch."

"I mean, she wasn't until three days ago, and I've known her and... loved her, I guess, for a long time before that but now she's married."

"It sounds like you might have left it a bit late to tell her...?" she suggested.

He sighed. "It's worse than that."

"Worse?" She sighed. "You really don't do anything by halves, do you Jack?"

He smiled thinly. "I never have."

"How is it worse, then?"

He sipped his coffee. "I told her how I felt and I... I slept with her."

Sara groaned. "Oh, Jack..."

"And she told me she loved me. Told me... told me that I wasn't the other guy. That he was."

"She loves you too, huh?"

"Yeah, but... then she married him. And now I don't know what to do."

Sara massaged her temples, a habit O'Neill recognised from when they had still lived together; a sign she was considering a knotty problem. "You came here for my advice?"

He nodded.

"Then my advice is to leave well alone. If she's married him, that means she had made her choice. You have to respect that."

His nodded again, his shoulders slumping.

"But.."

"There's a but?"

"There's always a but," she smiled.

"What's the but?"

"Maybe she's made a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"We all make 'em." She paused delicately. "Don't let her mess you around Jack."

"Too late for that."

She regarded him a for a moment, head held to one side. "Is it that blonde woman who works for you? What's her name? Samantha?"

He froze. "What makes you think that?"

She smiled, knowing she had struck a nerve. "She looked like your type. And when you came here to meet Frank..."

"Frank?" he asked, confused.

She made a small noise of dissent. "My husband, Jack."

"Oh. Yeah. Him," he said, having the decency to look at his feet in embarrassment.

"Yeah. Him. Well, when you came here to meet him you were talking about your team. And you mentioned her."

"I did?"

"Only about six times," she grinned, "Carter this, Carter that. And there was something in your eyes."

His eyes dropped to his feet again. "That bad?"

"Nah, not that bad. But I know you better then most people, don't I?"

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah you do."

She picked up his empty coffee mug. "Anything else I can do for you?"

He looked at her, standing with on hand on her hip and he felt a pang of loss for the first time in ages. "No," he answered, standing up himself. "Thank you."

He hugged her, without awkwardness, and kissed her cheek.

"Anytime," she replied, a softness in her eyes and he wondered if, just for a moment, she had felt the pang of loss as well.

He walked outside of her well-ordered home and clambered back into his car. Strangely enough, he actually felt a little better.


	16. A Change

If he was honest, he missed the visits to her lab with no real excuse, missed the jokes and flirtatious banter that had up to now pretty much defined his relationship with Sam Carter. He'd stopped timing his elevator rides to the surface to 'accidentally' bump into her. He ate jello with Teal'c and sometimes Daniel. He no longer stole glances at her during briefings, when she had often been, to him at least, at her most beautiful; completely absorbed and focused on her work, her science.

Damage limitation became his watchwords: he was polite, friendly even, but he would not, _could_ not, cross the line anymore between subordinate and CO. They could be colleagues, stiff and awkward around one another, but not friends.

He supposed this was 'closure' or maybe 'moving on' but it didn't feel that way. It felt like existing rather than living.

Before he knew it he'd be watching black and white films shown only in the early hours of the morning. He'd find himself empathising with their raincoat-wearing, steely faced heroes; waving their true loves away onto endless trains wreathed in clouds of steam and then there would be no hope for him.

It was a dreary Wednesday afternoon, always a bad time for him because SG-7 had their briefing at 10:05 and he had to spend an hour Not Looking At Her. He was playing with crumpled pieces of paper; the remnants of the drafts of a report he had shockingly managed to complete early. Surreptitiously trying to juggle under his desk so the staff in the control room couldn't see what he was engaged with he jumped in shock as the klaxons began to wail. He dropped the paper balls guiltily.

There was a palpable straightening of slumped shoulders and wrinkled uniforms as he ambled into the control room; actions which made him fell both proud and a little ashamed.

"It's an unknown address, General," Sergeant Davis said, as O'Neill came to a stop behind him.

"Close the iris."

Perhaps it was because he was the only person standing upright at the time, but as the iris close across the shimmering event horizon, he thought the ripples moved oddly, almost like the water of a pond after a stone has been thrown--

--The projectile, with mere millimeters of clearance, shot through the 'gate straight towards the glass window of the control room. It was a needle thin bolt of shining metal, possibly steel but travelling at such a velocity it was impossible to tell. O'Neill had just enough time to think _not again, _let alone order the blast doors closed when the projectile hit the glass, shattering the toughened glass as if it were the fine dusting of sugar on Carter's wedding cake.

As the fragments fell to the floor, making less of a tinkle and more of a smashing noise, the bolt pierced O'Neill's body; the force of the blow throwing him backwards across the room. His head cracked sickeningly against the concrete of the wall and the world was very suddenly switched off.

* * *

Light permeated the gloom of unconsciousness at last. 

He exhaled and the pain assailed him. "I really hate Wednesdays," he breathed.

"Actually it's Friday."

For a moment a sudden overwhelming panic surged through him. He thought the voice came from withing his own head; that they had implanted him with a Tok'ra again to save his life--

Then his vision cleared, his brain making sense of what had occurred and a pinkish blur at his feet resolved itself into Daniel. The archeologist was sitting at the end of an infirmary bed. He was smiling broadly.

O'Neill tried to check the date on his watch but his arms were pinned to his sides by... by his blankets. He blinked. He'd heard the phrase 'weak as a kitten' but this was ridiculous...

"I could have sworn it was Wednesday when I last checked." O'Neill's voice was the slightest of whispers, breath to carry words being difficult to draw.

Daniel stood and moved to the side of the bed. There were dark patches under his eyes and an angry red mark on the bridge of his nose from where he had pushed his glasses into place far too vigorously, or perhaps repetitively. "You've been out quite a while. Nine days in fact."

"Something hit me."

"Yeah. Uh, Doctor Brightman will fill you in on the specifics, not sure if you're up to hearing it right now-"

"I thought that couldn't happen anymore."

Daniel looked momentarily awkward. "Well, technically it can't. There was the slight delay in iris activation and a projectile only ten millimeters in diameter aimed squarely for the center of the 'gate... The iris nearly closed _on _it."

O'Neill simply sighed in reply.

"You nearly didn't make it," Daniel continued, "You were in surgery for nine hours."

If it had been possible, O'Neill would have shrugged. "For a bolt ten millimeters in diameter?"

Daniel paused for a moment, and then dragged his chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. "I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you all this..."

"Cut the crap and tell me what the hell happened," O'Neill responded, pain making him even shorter tempered than normal.

"Okay." He drew in a breath and then began to speak in a flat monotone. "The bullet pierced your chest, just above your abdomen. It then... uh... released spines to embed itself within your body rather than passing straight through your chest cavity. When they removed it, there were over thirty separate spines that were growing internally.

"Your left lung collapsed as a result of those protrusions. Twice. They had to do a lot of surgical repair work to your diaphragm and your stomach wall. You were lucky not to have your intestines pierced. You have five broken ribs. Your collarbone was fractured when you hit the wall. You have a concussion. Doctor Brightman has yet to completely rule out pelvic damage."

He stopped to draw in a deeper breath. "And then we realised it had released some sort of organism into your bloodstream."

O'Neill's eyes were closed.

"Your wounds weren't healing properly. Your immune system wasn't responding to what Doctor Brightman believed to be a genetically modified organism which was using red blood cells to replicate. Eventually, you were going to suffocate to death. She just couldn't work out why it wasn't happening already."

O'Neill opened his eyes. Daniel's eyes were glazed, his face tight with the effort to control emotion. O'Neill realised that stupidly he felt guilty, guilty for putting his friend through what had obviously been a living hell.

"It turned out the trace elements of naquada in your blood from your blending with Kanan. The metal was... attracting the organisms and binding with them irreversibly and your liver was breaking them down.

"But there wasn't enough naquada in your system to cure you. Doctor Brightman tried injecting you with small amounts of the element but nothing happened. Eventually the only theory anyone could come up with was that the naquada present in a symbiote must be, in some way we can't identify, different to the pure element. The doctor thought it might be the purification process we use to extract it from ore. There was nothing we could do."

Daniel's gaze had now dropped to his shoes and O'Neill felt moved to speak. "So... what happened? You must have come up with something."

Daniel nodded. "Sam came up with the idea."

"Sam?" O'Neill found himself interrupting, "Carter? Carter's been here?" He tried to keep the hope out of his voice.

Daniel gave him a disbelieving look. "_Been here?_ Jack, she's not left your bedside for nine days. Doctor Brightman had to _order_ her to get some rest, and even then she only complied after she collapsed on the way here to see you."

O'Neill was uncharacteristically silent.

Daniel continued. "Sam thought the naquada in her blood might work. Brightman wasn't sure it was worth it, that the amount of blood Sam would need to give would be too much. Sam still wanted to try."

"A blood transfusion?"

Daniel nodded. "Effectively. They took as much blood as was safe from her... and then some. You responded well. Sam became anaemic. Doctor Brightman refused to take anymore but Sam insisted, they thought one more transfusion would save you. It did. Sam had to have a transfusion herself she became so anaemic, but she's going to be okay."

There was as close to silence as ever there can be in an infirmary, the bleeping of machines obliterating the quiet.


	17. Thank You

Carter slept deeply; more deeply than she would normally as a result of her anaemia, although she had always found sleep easy to come by in her on-base quarters. She had spent increasing amounts of time sleeping here rather than at home over the past few years and sometimes she despaired of the fact the bare concrete walls seemed more homely than her house.

And recently of course she had found sleep easier here because she was alone. At home sleep meant sharing a bed with her husband. A bed that was forever tainted by the memory of sharing it with another man she sometimes wondered if she could have slept more soundly beside, given a chance.

Her dreams tangled themselves most unpleasantly and she woke up feeling curiously fearful. Shaking away the clinging ghosts of sleep she sat up and stretched in the gloom, switching on a bedside lamp. Shadows fled to the corners of the room and she slipped her feet into her slippers and headed to the bathroom. Her arm ached and she rubbed the bruise absently, the ugly mark of her self-sacrifice. She didn't normally bruise when she gave blood but then she didn't normally give more than a pint of blood in one go, so she suppressed the dark thought that crept insidiously into her mind about Doctor Brightman's lack of gentleness when it came to medical procedures, blaming the bruise on the unusual circumstances instead.

There was a knock on her door. Daniel opened it before she could open her mouth to tell him to enter. His dark eyes were shining.

"He's awake."

* * *

"Jack!"

His eyes snapped open. She looked much paler than he remembered, and thinner in a pinched sort of way. "I think I have to thank you," he whispered.

She sank into the chair at his bedside, Daniel's hand on her shoulder. Her own hand crept across his covers to touch O'Neill's fingers. "Any of us would have done it Jack."

"I know."

Daniel coughed. "I'm, uh, I'm just going to get a... I'll be back in a while."

They ignored him as he left, smiling thinly; both unwilling to break eye contact. "I thought I'd lost you," she murmured as the door shut behind Jackson. "Again."

"Again?"

"You know. More... permanently."

His eyes closed. "How's Pete?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I spoke to him on the 'phone yesterday. He's okay."

"You've not been home since yesterday?"

"No."

There was a long pause.

"I've not been home since Thursday before last."

Another pause.

"I've been here."

"Watching me," he said. It wasn't a question.

_I think I've made a mistake._ The words hovered on her lips, unsay-able. He guessed them despite of her silence, perhaps able to read it on her face.

"We all make 'em," he said. She wondered when he had become psychic.

"Most people make 'em smaller," she returned in a small voice.

"Divorce rates being what they are I think most people make the same one."

She flinched at the word she never allowed herself to think. _Divorce._

_But Pete put so much into the relationship. I put so much into the relationship. Why destroy it?_

The answer was obvious.

_Because it isn't what I want. It's what I'm settling for. I'd rather die than lose Jack. Can I say the same for Pete?_

_No._

_Then I have to end it. _

_I can't._

The same thoughts had cycled endlessly throughout the last nine days as she had kept her constant vigil at O'Neill's bedside.

She pushed them to one side again. "Has Doctor Brightman spoken to you?" she asked.

His grip on her fingers tightened slightly. "Yeah. I'm hoping they can install me a TV. Don't want to miss anymore _Simpsons_ episodes." He smiled. "I'll be up and about in no time. Doctor Brightman's removing the stitches later today. And I've been informed in no uncertain terms sitting around is the worst thing I can do."

She half-smiled, well able to imagine the conversation between Doctor and patient. "I miss Janet." She had spoken the words unthinkingly and now bit her lip, wondering why.

"Yeah," he said softly, "Me too. How's Cassie?"

"Pete's been keeping an eye on her. I've spoken to her a few times and she's been in to see you twice. She's okay."

"And you? Daniel said you collapsed...?"

She sighed. "On my way here. Yes. Just loss of blood."

He gave her a painfully intense look and her treacherous stomach turned over as his thumb ran over the pinched skin of her knuckle. She remembered being gently tipped over backwards and onto her mattress under the force of kisses.

"Thank you."

She tried to think of the words to tell him that there was no option that existed for her _not _to help him; that she would rather die than lose him and nothing that she would not give to keep him in this world, with her. Even if he wasn't, strictly speaking, _with _her.

_Actions speak louder than words._

She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "_Any_ time."


	18. Confession

Her house seemed unfamiliar. She was so used to strip lighting and pre-fab blocks of concrete that the pleasant light blue and white colour of her living room wallpaper seemed offensive to the eye after over a week of endless repetition: grey, grey, grey. The man slumped in front of the television was wrong; too short, too stocky, too young, too healthy.

She felt strong, as if the touch of O'Neill's lips had conferred onto her some of the vitality that had kept him alive through the most horrendous catalogue of alien-inflicted injuries.

"Hey."

Pete's response floored her. He remained slumped in his chair, voice flat. No hug, no kiss.

She put her keys on their hook.

"Hey."

"I didn't make you any dinner. Didn't think you'd be back." There was an element of bitterness in his voice.

"I'm sorry," she faltered, trying to remember the mantra she had chanted in the car: _Strength. Determination. Resolution._

"Yeah."

She sat down gingerly next to him. "Pete... we need to talk."

He looked at her for the first time, fierce anger burning in his eyes, so unusual it scared her. "Too right! Nine days, Sam. _Nine _days!"

Normally by now guilt would have prickled. Now she simply found herself getting angry. "A man was dying!"

"A man? Just _a man_ to you, is he? Say _Jack_ and have done with it!"

"What?"

"_Jack!_ Always, it's always Jack! I know he was hurt. I know you were helping him by giving blood, God knows why it _had _to be you, but for Christ's sake Sam! It's a forty minute drive! Couldn't you have come home _once_?"

"He could have died!"

"For the whole nine days he was critical?" His voice was loaded with scepticism. "I don't believe that!"

She opened her mouth to argue but found her voice died. No, to say Jack had been critical for the whole nine days would be a lie. Since her last transfusion two days ago he had been stable, if unconscious. Even Daniel had slept at home three nights of the nine. Teal'c had spent a day off-world on a mission of some urgency concerning free Jaffa. He'd returned straight to O'Neill's bedside, of course, but he hadn't tried to make it to the infirmary after being ordered away for the sake of his own health. "He's my friend," she whispered.

"No." Pete's voice was hard as stone. "No. Not just a friend."

"Just what are you suggesting?" she found herself shrieking, half in shock that he had guessed, or noticed.

"That there is something going on between you and Jack O'Neill! Don't insult me by suggesting I wouldn't notice!" His sudden thunderclap of rage made her flinch as he shouted back at her. "You... you seemed so distracted, so_ miserable_ before your hen night. And after. Then there were those little jaunts out. And I thought maybe, maybe I was wrong or... or overreacting, or something. And you... you cried. When you thought I was asleep, you were crying. I told myself maybe it was nerves, or something from work, or Janet or... anything! Anything apart from me!!"

His face had crumpled as he had spoken, looking as if he might cry, but suddenly it twisted again, mouth rearranging itself in a sneer. She simply sat, stock still, in shock.

"And then when he gave you away... when he gave you away.... I _knew_, Sam. I knew by the look on his face. By the way you avoided him at the party. Then he stormed out when we were dancing. I _knew_! You talk in your sleep and you say _his _name!"

She could not think of a reply. He rushed on.

"So I spoke to Cassie-"

"You spoke to Cassie?"

"Yes!! Who the hell else was I supposed to talk to last week? I asked her some stuff-"

"Asked _her?!_" Carter leapt to her feet. "You asked _Cassie_ stuff? That poor kid has been through more than you can ever imagine and you put pressure on her to-to..." Words failed her.

She was sure Cassie would have said nothing incriminating, but the idea that Pete had pressed her for such information was stomach turning.

"What else am I supposed to do! And she said... well, she said nothing. But what she _didn't_ say spoke volumes!"

"Oh, infer what you want!" Carter snapped.

"Damn right I will! You've betrayed me, Sam, deny it all you want but I _know. _And I can't think what I've done to deserve it and I am _angry_ and I need you to explain." His voice was softer now, almost dangerous. "I need to understand if I can ever forgive you."

"I don't want your _forgiveness_!" she spat back, the image of him questioning Cassie still too strong in her mind to prevent herself.

"So you admit that there is something going on?"

She stood up violently. "Stop asking!" she shouted, making as if to move away.

He grabbed her shoulders. "IS THERE SOMETHING GOING ON?"

Her ears were ringing from the ferocity of his yell. His eyes burned into hers, his hold on her shoulders painfully tight. "Let go of me."

"Tell me," he returned, lessening his painful grip on her shoulders but refusing to let go. "You're my wife, for Christ's sake, tell me."

There was an infinite pause.

"Yes."


	19. Safe Port In A Storm

"Yes."

There was an infinite pause. She could hear the beating of her own heart and she realised she was scared of the man who's grip on her shoulders was once again painfully tight.

Then he released her and slumped back onto the sofa, as if her word had commanded all the strength in his body to flee. He gazed somewhere in the middle distance, breathing in short, controlled bursts. "How much...?" he managed, his voice cracked.

"How much?" she repeated stupidly, not understanding what he was asking.

"Did you kiss him? Have sex with him?" he clarified and she felt her cheeks flush a dull, embarrassed red.

"Yes."

"You kissed him?"

"Yes."

"You... you slept with him?" The words tore themselves from his throat.

"Yes."

His shoulders slumped although his face remained calm. "When?" he asked.

She hung her head, more ashamed then she had ever been in her entire life. "The day you sold your house."

He nodded, his face still blank. She found the silence unbearable, accusing.

"Pete... I... I'm really sorry."

He nodded again, and cracked. Tears forced themselves from his eyes and he buried his face in his hands, sobs wracking his body. She moved to hug him, to offer some shred of comfort.

"Don't you dare comfort me!" he shrieked, leaping up suddenly and pushing her away. "Don't you dare!"

She stumbled and fell over from the force of his shove, friction burning the hand she threw out to break her fall on the carpet. He advanced, standing over her and her pity turned to terror.

"You... evil..." Words failed her husband, his face dark with rage. She stood quickly, wondering if he were about to attack her.

He wasn't. Sensing how threatening his actions were he retreated to the sofa, replacing his head in his hands.

"Pete...?"

"Just go."

"I-"

"Please! Just GO!"

She nodded, her own tears starting to fall, but for who or what reason she was crying she had no idea. She slipped out of the front door, started her car and drove into the night.

* * *

Cassie was awoken by her mobile 'phone ringing at two o'clock in the morning. Panicking slightly she threw off her bedclothes and grabbed for the 'phone.

"Hello?"

Carter winced at the sound of the worried teenager's voice. "It's me."

"Sam? Is Jack okay?"

Cursing herself again Carter replied quickly. "Yes. He's fine... I'm really sorry to wake you Cassie I just don't know where else to go... Can you open the door for me? I don't have a key and I didn't want to freak you out by knocking at this hour."

"Sure.." Cassie replied, utterly confused. "What's going on?" she asked the 'phone as she padded barefoot down the stairs.

Carter's car was parked on the drive, her silhouette on the porch. Cassie opened the door carefully, only removing the chain when she was _sure_ it was Carter, and Carter alone at that.

"Sam?" she asked, ending the 'phone call as the older woman crossed the doorstep.

The door shut. "Cassie, I am _so _sorry about Pete questioning you."

Cassie blinked. "Oh! Oh yeah, sorry, I'd forgotten about that! I didn't get you into trouble did I?" she added, worriedly.

"No... How could you...?" Carter asked, confused now.

Cassie winced. "I.. Uh, I kind of heard the answer-phone message you left Jack. And... at the wedding..."

"Oh."

"Is that why you're here? To apologise?" Cassie asked after a moments awkward silence in which Carter stared at her shoes.

"No. Uh. Pete knows about... about me and Jack."

"And you need somewhere to stay?" Cassie asked, shrewd even in her sleepiness.

Carter nodded. "I didn't want to turn up at the SGC like this... not at this time in the morning."

Cassie found she was smiling. She hugged Carter impulsively. "I'm glad you've told Pete."

Carter found tears were spilling from her overloaded eyes. "Me too."

"Where do you want to sleep?" the teenager asked when they broke away at last.

"The couch is fine," Carter replied, smiling waterily.

"You could always sleep in Jack's bed. It could probably do with airing...?"

She was tempted, but in the end shook her head firmly. "It wouldn't be right. The couch is fine," she repeated.

Cassie nodded. "Okay. Let me get you some pillows and blankets," she replied, stifling a yawn.


	20. Righting the Wrongs

Sweat stung his eyes as a dull pain throbbed in his chest and lower stomach. He could feel her eyes upon him and he concentrated on lifting up one leg, moving forward, putting it down again, ignoring the aches.

"Very good!" she declared, clapping her hands together.

It would have been a relief to collapse back into his wheelchair, but it would have jarred his aching body too much; so with the uttermost effort he gently lowered himself back down into the seat, extremely grateful when his own legs no longer had to support the weight of his body.

He hated the physio-room more than any other on the base.

Doctor Brightman gave him a rare smile. "You're making excellent progress. If you continue to recover at this rate you could be home within a week."

He nodded, too exhausted to speak. He wiped his forehead, unsurprised to find his hair was soaked with sweat. She regarded him for a moment, and then nodded to the orderly who proceeded to wheel him back to the infirmary.

Daniel was lurking in the doorway, looking mildly embarrassed to see O'Neill being pushed along. He fell into step beside the chair, apologising.

"Sorry Jack, I thought you'd be finished by now...." Everyone was well aware of O'Neill's hatred of being seen in the wheelchair, of being pitied.

O'Neill waved his hand vaguely. "It's not a problem."

"How are you feeling?"

O'Neill shrugged and winced. "Better. Brightman says I might be home in a week."

Daniel's eyes widened behind his glasses. "That soon?"

"I hope so."

* * *

He lay awake, eyes closed and feigning sleep, the bleeping of the infirmary machines hidden behind the curtains around his bed so familiar to him now he no longer even heard them.

For the first time he was not simply too exhausted to do anything other to fall into a sleep so deep he might as well have been unconscious. He found his thoughts returning to their well trodden paths.

_Carter._

What had she meant by her kiss. That they were friends again? Something more? He doubted the latter, but also wonder whether he could cope with the former.

Again, the sense of bitter loss and hopelessness rose within him, choking him. His chest seemed to fill with a curiously heavy feeling and he felt like crying.

_Why? Why can't I have what I want?_

The thought shocked him slightly, scared him. He did not want to think of Sam Carter in terms of possession, of want. But he _did_ want her, in every conceivable way. He wanted her at his side throughout the whole of what remained of his life; in the field, at the briefing table and, if he was honest, in his bed.

He frowned, tears welling behind his closed eyelids as he remembered kissing her, of being lead from her bathroom, of undr-

"Jack?"

His reddened eyes flew open, his first panicked thought was that he was hallucinating.

She was standing at his bedside, the curtains closed behind her, looking even more awkward than was normal; entwining her fingers around one another. She was still far too thin and pale...

"Carter?" he murmured, trying to unstick his throat. "What are you doing here?"

"I haven't seen you for a few days," she lied, "I wanted to see how you are."

"I'm fine," he replied in a hoarse whisper, "Why are you really here?"

She smiled slightly, almost in desperation, and pulled up the chair always left near his bedside for one of the three members of SG-1. She reached across the covers and took his hand. Shocked he simply lay watching her fingers as they clasped around his. He gave her hand a small, comforting squeeze and tried to ignore the rapid beating of his heart.

"Pete and I are getting a divorce."

Her statement floored him completely and the reply he had been about to make died on his lips. "Uh?" he managed, scattered brain-cells valiantly trying to regroup.

She looked away. "Pete and I... we're divorcing," she repeated.

Gently, he removed his hand from hers, ignoring her panicked look. He pinched the skin on the back of his other hand so hard he yelped. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay... maybe this isn't a dream."

She took his hand again. "Jack..."

He wished his stomach wouldn't lurch when she said his name so softly. He was becoming uncomfortably aware of the proximity of their entwined hands to his groin. He pulled her hand up to his chest.

"I'm sorry. I just... I don't know what else to say so I make a bad joke."

She smiled again. "I've known that for a very long time."

"Uh. Why?"

"Why what?" she asked, confused.

"Why are you divorcing?"

"Oh." Her smile faded again and she flushed slightly. "I.. Uh. Pete confronted me about the nine days I spent here and I... I told him about what happened the night you...we...uh..." she trailed off in mute embarrassment.

"Oh," he responded, having the decency to look away from her crimson face. "So...?"

"I. Um. I've kind of being living with Cassie for a few days while we take stock of things, I mean, the house is technically mine but I was gonna sell it and split the profits-"

"Staying with Cassie?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Yes."

"With Cassie... at my house...?"

She could only nod.

"Oookay," he said; the streak of clownish theatrics in him over-expressing his unease at the situation.

She closed her eyes momentarily. "I-I'm really sorry about that. It was very late and I couldn't think of-"

"I don't mind," he interrupted, "It's just... a bit weird to think of you living in my house when I'm not there."

There was a pause and O'Neill felt his gaze dragging back to their hands.

"I just wanted you to know," she murmured.

"I'm glad you told me."

There was another, longer pause. He stared at their hands, trying to cajole his reluctant brain into thinking, into providing him with something else to stay. Nothing was forthcoming.

A stifled sob made him look around sharply. He swore under his breath. "Carter... Don't cry."

"I'm sorry Jack," she said, releasing his hand and burying her face in both of her own, "I just.. I feel I've made too many mistakes to put right. I've hurt both of...I mean, you and Pete. And I was trying so hard not to hurt either of you."

Her misery overcame her, silent sobs wracking her body. He lay for one frustratedly awkward second, and then forced his reluctant body to throw off his sheets and swing his legs out of bed. He enveloped her in his arms, ignoring the sharp pains from his ribs and hugged her, kissing the top of her head. "You do feel better," he whispered, "Eventually. Less guilty, less responsible."

She swallowed. "I always forget... forget that you..."

"Yeah," he said, cutting her off before the memories he worked so hard to bury resurfaced. "I know what it's like to feel like a betrayer, a cause of other people's pain."

She withdrew from his now tear-soaked chest a little. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Everybody cries. There's even a song about it."

She smiled again, a chuckle escaping her lips. There was a beat of silence.

"I love you Jack."

He inhaled sharply and coughed, trying not to have a choking fit. "...Love me?"

Her shoulders sagged slightly, as if he had given the wrong answer. "Yes," she said, almost defiantly.

"Oh." He drew back a little more, so that he could look her directly in the eye. "Good."

"Good?"

"Good."

She felt the corners of her mouth tugging into a smile. "Oh... good."

"Because... I love you." It felt good to finally say it, in a way that was not tempered with the realisation he could soon lose her, and any chance to say the words again.

He kissed her, without any feeling of guilt, or loss, or sadness. He kissed her, and it felt like being seventeen and in love for the first time again, just as it always had, and he felt a tremendous sense of relief that this was still so.

_I love you. I could get used to saying that._


	21. Sam and Jack

There was a peculiar smell that had pervaded his house, he realised, as he walked through the front door. It took him a few moments to identify it. It was the smell of cleanliness, of vacuumed carpets and dusted shelves, scented candles and air-freshener.

In short, it was the smell of women, a smell his house had not known for a long time.

He deposited his keys on the table by the door and retrieved the message off his answer-machine which transpired to be a tele-salesman's offering of quick, easy and cheap double glazing. Nonplussed by the apparent emptiness of his house he moved stiffly towards his living room, pushing open the door and-

"Surprise!"

He smiled. Carter and Cassie were sitting in his living room, a large and sticky iced cake on the coffee table. Cassie jumped up and embraced him unashamedly, taking care not to bump his wounded chest. "I'm glad you're back," she murmured.

Carter looked unusually uneasy, sitting awkwardly on his sofa with the air of a woman not sure if she should hover in or out of sight. He released Cassie and smiled at her, the memory of their kiss still firm in his mind. She smiled back, still supremely uncomfortable. He sighed internally, and wondered if it were possible for them ever to make it past this teenage-like embarrassment at being in the presence of one another in a non-military situation. Sometimes, it was so much _easier _to be Carter and Sir.

"I bought cake," she said brightly.

* * *

Cassie decided to retreat to her room at half past ten, leaving them alone. Carter stood up after the teenager had bade them both a good night. "I'd better go..."

O'Neill's brow wrinkled in perplexity. "I thought you were sleeping here?"

Carter flushed a deep red. "No... I.. Uh, well, I didn't think it would be very appropriate now you're home and I can check into a motel or go home or-"

"Don't be daft. You're more than welcome here. If you _want_ to sleep on my couch, that is," he said.

Carter considered her options. "No, I'm sure..." She trailed off in the face if his penetrative stare. "Um," she managed, valiantly re-attempting to re-iterate her desire to leave, "Er.."

He was holding his head at an angle, his expression unreadable. His hair was mussed at the back as it so often was, giving him an air of boyishness.

"Um... Well, if you really don't mind me sleeping on your couch..."

"Has Pete still not moved out of your place?" he asked as she sat back down.

She winced. "No. Not exactly. Not until the sale comes through and he can get another place of his own. I mean, I can always sleep on base but he really has no where else to go and..." _And I don't really want to bump into him if I can help it. He might try to persuade me to change my mind and I couldn't bear that._

He nodded wisely. "I think I understand."

She found she was looking at the knees of her jeans.

His fingers touched her chin lightly and she turned her head to look into his eyes.

"Sam?"

She nodded, swallowing with nerves. It was still odd to hear him speak her name.

"I need to know... something. I don't want to offend you by asking... but I have to know..."

"Know what?"

He exhaled slowly before speaking. "Did you leave Pete? Or did Pete leave you?"

She blinked. "Um. It was kind of... a mutual decision, si-Jack. I went to tell him I was leaving and he... asked me to leave before I really got the chance to tell him."

He nodded. "I think..." He stopped and then restarted his sentence, "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

She suspected his words were not the ones he had originally intended to speak but she smiled anyway, a little falsely, and nodded. "Good night then, Jack."

"Good night." He moved as if to kiss her, but then apparently though better of it and pulled away, limping quickly out of the room and up the stairs.

She sighed deeply and put her head in her hands. _Nothing in life is ever simple_, _is it?_

After a few more moments staring at nothing in the dim light of the living room she shook herself out of her fug and retrieved her nightclothes and blankets from their hiding place in the under-the-stairs cupboard. Jack's sofa was designed to be converted into a reclining lounger and served fairly well as a reasonably comfortable bed. She undressed in the dark and slipped into her night-clothes, waiting until the cessation of the sound of running water signalled that Jack and Cassie had both finished using the bathroom. Then she went upstairs to prepare herself for sleep.

Ten minutes later she had pulled her blanket up to her chin and was staring at the ceiling of O'Neill's living room, her mind racing. She had work to finish tomorrow, a paper on naquada decay rates to complete and several experiments to run.

The living room door creaked open again and she jumped in shock. Having being so absorbed in her thoughts she had not heard the intruder creep down the stairs. She gulped. Jack O'Neill, dressed only in boxer-shorts, stood in the door-frame. Her stomach leapt.

He crossed to her and she drew her knees up to her chin so he could sit back down. "Uh do you...?" He lost his nerve again and settled for finishing with : "...Uh, want a coffee, or... anything?"

_Time to take the bull by the horns. _"Not really," she half-whispered.

A half-smile lingered around his mouth. "Me neither."

There was a pause, in which the creak of Cassie's bed as she turned over could be heard.

He reached for her hand, folding his fingers over hers and leaning in to kiss her softly on the mouth. She shivered slightly as he ran a hand up her arm and along her shoulder. She found herself pulling him into an embrace, savouring the feeling of her bare arms on his bare back. He responded passionately, kissing her more deeply and shifting his weight deftly so he did not crush her as he was effectively pulled on top of her. He let his lips slide to the crook of her neck and held her closely, enjoying the feeling of warmth and closeness despite the blankets that still lay between them.

After a moment of blissful stillness he released her, and slid off the couch. He stood, hesitant and uncertain as to what he should do next and her mind raced frantically.

_Is this what I want? Does this feel right? Do I feel guilty?_

She followed his lead, standing upright and touching his shoulder lightly.

_Yes, it is. It's always felt right. And why should I feel guilty, now? Pete is divorcing me. I am free and single and an independent woman. I can do as I choose._

She shadowed him out of the living room and up the stairs. His bedroom was the first door on the right. She followed him inside, the room illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and slipped into bed next to him.. She wondered if his heart was pounding as fiercely as hers.

After a few moments he reached out towards her, his fingertips brushing her midriff. She fumbled for the bedside lamp and flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness.

_Sam and Jack. They went together, as naturally as breathing. In the light of all her burning bridges she perceived it, as he did, with crystal clarity. _

The End

(probably)


End file.
